Talking To The Dead
by Kasra
Summary: AU Gluhen. When Weiss re-forms under tragic circumstances, Ken struggles through a web of lies to discover the truth behind his comrade's death. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

Well, what can I say? This plot bunny hopped up, bit me squarely on the ass and wouldn't let leave me alone for the entire time I was home visiting family over the holidays. I had been eagerly gobbling up episodes of Gluhen as they came out, but found myself dissatisfied as I watched it; many things seemed illogical and unexplained, and my mind got to thinking of ways to fill in the gaps. The next thing I knew I had five pages' worth of fic outline on my hands. ^_^

Since Gluhen is currently airing in Japan, and I know I won't be able to fit this exactly to canon, I'm going to slap a big ole' AU on it. There'll be a little bit of shounen ai (since that's what I write), but it will (hopefully) not be gratuitous.

Oh, and don't take anything for granted in this fic. Trust me. ^_~

Anyhow, my usual disclaimer stands. I'm an engineer, not an anime producer. I don't own 'em; I'm just playing nicely with the boys for a bit. I'll return them to their respective owners when I'm finished, hopefully in the same condition they were in when I borrowed them.

**Talking to the Dead**

  


**Prologue**

"Howdy, stranger. Fancy meeting you here."

Ken froze, his hands gripping his knees to keep them from knocking together in fear. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the presence of the too-familiar voice, inwardly cursing the futility of it.

"Come on, it hasn't been that long, has it?" A friendly hand gripped his shoulder, forcing the reality of the situation to the forefront. Ken sighed, opened his eyes, and turned to greet his former teammate.

And received the shock of his life.

"Y-Yohji?"

A hand swept up and tilted an outlandish cowboy hat out of his eyes. Sure enough, the same green eyes he remembered from - what had it been? Six months ago? - stared out from underneath, piercing him with an appraising look of their own.

"Got it in one, kid." Yohji finished his quick assessment of Ken and looked down at his hands. "Come on, I don't look that bad, do I?"

"No!" Ken backpedaled. "Just... different." He smiled, trying to ease the tension he had inadvertently created. "It's just... you're hard to recognize without your sunglasses."

"Well, I can't always be looking the same, you know. Gotta keep stylin' to keep the ladies interested." He grinned, removing his hat and running his fingers through the newly shorn locks while observing Ken's dumbstruck expression. "And what have we here? Am I the only person these days able to find a respectable barber?"

Ken shook his head in bemusement and shrugged off the comment, before turning back to his previous object of contemplation. He knelt to the ground and bowed his head, breathing deep the heady scent of incense in the air.

To his surprise, Yohji dropped to his knees as well, removing his hat and placing a bouquet of crimson roses at the base of the grave. Incense swirled in lazy curls up to the sky as the men offered their prayers in silence.

Ken finished his prayers, getting up to leave the graveyard. _I'll return later,_ he promised, _when I'm better company to be around._ Fighting the tightness in his throat, he turned to say goodbye to Yohji.

Yohji was already standing, cowboy hat perched rakishly atilt on his head so that his right eye was completely covered. Sighing, Yohji looked back at the grave marker. "Dammit," he muttered. "I wish I could have at least gone to the funeral."

Ken regarded him with surprise; he had thought at least Yohji would have made it. "Why didn't you?"

"Oh? So you weren't there either?" Yohji swooped closer, obviously equally if not more surprised by Ken's inadvertent admission.

Ken refused to meet his questioning gaze, turning away to stare off into the distance at the darkening sky. "No."

Perhaps sensing he had overstepped a boundary, Yohji backed off. "Then I guess that leaves only Aya."

Ken's silent assent rang hollow in the air.

"Assuming he wasn't indisposed, of course," Yohji added quickly.

"I'm certain he wasn't." Ken tried to rein the bitterness back in his tone, but found that despite the effort, he was still unable to completely mask it.

Yohji shrugged, pulling a well-worn pack of cigarettes out of his trenchcoat. He scrutinized the smashed packet for a long moment, as though contemplating it, before shaking his head and returning the pack to the inner pocket of his coat.

Ken ceased to look off in the distance and instead stared at the grave marker in front of him. He knew he should leave this place, move on, but it was hard; it held many more memories than he was ready to let go of just yet.

"Hey Ken," Yohji's voice once again broke his reverie. He was not certain if he ought to be happy for the distraction, or annoyed that he would not be left alone to mourn in peace.

"Yeah?" he bit back, perhaps harsher than intended.

Gesturing at the grave marker in front of them, Yohji spoke. "Well, err, I was just kind of wondering... which one do you think holds his remains?"

Ken furrowed his eyebrows. "'Which one?'"

"You know, grave." He gestured wildly with his arms. "Omi Tsukiyono, or... Mamoru Takatori."

"Oh." Ken shrugged. He had already had this debate with himself. "If I had to guess, I'd say Omi Tsukiyono. That was the name he chose to keep, so I imagine he'd want to be buried under that name."

Yohji nodded.

"But I left flowers at both of them, just in case." Ken finally turned and looked at Yohji. "It wouldn't do to offend the dead."

"Ah... I guess I'll have to hope that Omi's here, then, because I forgot to bring flowers for Mamoru. The thought only just occurred to me." Yohji straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off of his trenchcoat. "Well, I need to be going. I've got places to be and ladies to see. See you around, Ken." He turned around, and with a jaunty step, headed in the direction of the graveyard entrance.

Something whispered in the back of Ken's mind, jolting him into action. "Yohji! Wait!"

Yohji paused in step, turning his head to regard his former teammate. "Eh? Do you need something?"

Ken fought the constriction in his throat. _Why is this so difficult?_ "I was just wondering if, if this means that..." His courage gave out, and he stared at Yohji hopelessly, his eyes pleading with Yohji to answer his unspoken question.

_...If this means that you'll be rejoining Weiss._

Yohji frowned. "I'll be around. That's all I'll say for now. Seeya." He turned around and continued walking toward the entrance. Ken watched silently as he disappeared from his vision.

"Well, I guess it's just you and me again, then, Omi." He bent down, gathering the flowers together to rearrange into a more aesthetically appealing arrangement. Halfway through the process he stopped, suddenly realizing the inappropriateness of his action.

He looked askance at the grave marker. "I guess I should just leave these alone, right? You'd probably think they were perfect, regardless."

He scrutinized his half-finished work. Though perhaps Yohji's flowers were more appropriate, he preferred the white periwinkle to roses any day. Years of working around flowers had taken away much of the mystery and charm he had formerly associated with roses, and grown his appreciation of the less-popular blooms.

Idly, he picked up one of the periwinkles and twirled it in his fingers. "What do you think, Omi?" he wondered aloud. "Should I go back?"

He tried to picture Omi's face in his mind; tried to imagine how Omi would respond. A bright smile, perhaps, and an admonition to follow his heart. Yes, that would be Omi's response.

"I guess I'll think about it, then." Gently, he laid the flower next to the rest of the periwinkles, offset to the side slightly, with the stem overlapping one of Yohji's roses. Ken picked his coat up from the ground and put it on, buttoning it to ward off the evening chill. The sun was setting, and he still had another stop to make before he went home.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye for now." He gave the marker a tentative smile. "I'll come back later like I promised, when I've made my decision, and tell you all about it." He backed three steps away, bowed quickly, turned, and jogged back in the direction of the entrance.

Shortly before the entrance, he made a detour to his right, past five grave markers, followed by a quick left. He leaned down and placed a single dried white rose in front of the marker.

As he turned to leave, the last rays of sunset faded away in the twilit sky. In a couple of minutes, the lights would turn on and spoil the beautiful unobstructed view of the night sky. Ken made his way slowly back to the entrance of the graveyard, eyes fixed on the sky, as the stars started coming out.

Barely readable in the shadows, the neglected stone marker kept silent sentry over its single flower. Only the name remained legible:

HIDAKA KEN.

------------------------

_crimson rose_ - mourning

_white periwinkle_ - I Will Always Remember You

_rose (white - dried)_ - Death is Preferable To Loss of Virtue

  



	2. Chapter 1

  


**Chapter 1**

  
  


A tentative hand reached up and grabbed the doorknocker, giving it three solid raps before retreating back down to the side.

_This is ridiculous,_ he thought, fingering the key ring in his pocket. _It's not as if I can't let myself in if I really wanted to._

_Though I suppose it's possible they changed the locks..._

He was interrupted from his reverie by the bright smiling face of boy easily four years his junior. "Hello! You must be Ken!"

Taken aback slightly by the familiar greeting, Ken nodded dumbly.

"Good! Rex told me to expect you sometime this evening. We were just about to sit down and eat dinner. You can join us if you'd like." Bright blue eyes smiled at him from underneath a mop of unruly brown hair; Ken was unconsciously reminded of a very similar pair of cerulean eyes.

"I've, ah, already eaten. I think I'll pass. Though I appreciate the offer," he called out, his eyes following the boy as he darted into the kitchen to stir the meal. He smiled in fond remembrance of a time not long past, when Yohji regularly burned their meals and ended up making takeout into a staple of his diet.

"Sena?" an unfamiliar voice rang through the building. "Sena, where's the latest shipment of fertilizer?"

Moments later a spiky head peeked around from the back entrance of the store. "Sena?" Catching a glimpse of Ken, the other stepped into view, straightening up abruptly. "Excuse me," he bowed his head slightly, wiping soiled hands on a dark green apron. "I don't believe we've met."

Ken stepped forward, offering his right hand. "Ken Hidaka."

The younger man accepted it without hesitation. "Kyou Aguri. Codename Havana. You're Siberian, right?"

Ken nodded. It was a fair assumption that his new teammates would already know about him. "Sena just ran into the kitchen to take care of dinner. I think you'll find him in there."

Kyou made a motion in that direction, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "But if you don't mind, I can help you with the fertilizer. They probably still deliver it to the same loading pallet in the back."

A small smile graced Kyou's face. "Really? I'd appreciate it. I've only been at the shop for about a week now, and I'm still getting the hang of everything. Sena signed off on the shipment, so I assumed he'd know where it went."

Ken lifted his hand from Kyou's shoulder and began walking in the direction of the shop. "Probably, but he seems pretty preoccupied right now. We can check my hunch, and if it's wrong, we'll go and bother Sena."

Stepping into the back entrance of the shop, Ken was momentarily overwhelmed by the myriad of scents assaulting his senses. He was able to distinctly recognize at least fifteen of them without thought, and a quick glance around the shop verified another ten. Making his way briskly across the shop, he took a quick look around to re-familiarize himself with the layout. The shop itself was mostly as he remembered seeing it last time; many of the displays were in the same place they had been when he left, excepting the seasonal displays, which had been rotated into an autumnal theme.

He made a quick detour to the front to inspect the new displays. _It looks like Kyou and Sena do nice work, after all,_ he thought, admiring the bunches of bright red and yellow dried leaf accents. To the right of the entrance, a painted pumpkin whimsically greeted customers.

He was so caught up in looking at the pumpkin that he did not notice Kyou's approach. "Cute, isn't it? It was Sena's idea." Ken turned to follow Kyou, when something on the counter caught his eye.

"Freesia?" Ken picked the vase up, studying the blooms critically.

Kyou shifted in place, uncomfortably. "Yeah. Rex insisted, even though they're out of season. But they're nice, aren't they?"

Ken nodded slowly. "It's just... I went all over Tokyo looking for this flower, and then to find it here..." He shook his head. "I guess I really shouldn't be surprised." He replaced the vase onto the counter. "Come on, I'm delaying you from your dinner. Let's go find that fertilizer."

Kyou followed Ken outside to the alleyway, where a larger, secondary loading pallet stacked high with bags of fertilizer sat next to the greenhouse entrance. With the aid of a forklift, they made short work of transporting the fertilizer inside. He helped Kyou finish a few last tasks before Kyou locked the door to the shop behind them and headed back inside toward the kitchen.

As soon as the door shut, Sena's voice greeted their ears. "Kyou? Kyou! Dinner's on the table! Kyou -"

"Sorry, Sena. Ken was with me in the shop, helping me with the new fertilizer shipment."

Sena looked around the corner of the doorframe into the living room, where Kyou stood to the right of Ken. "Oh! I'm sorry, I was supposed to help you with that..."

Kyou grinned at his younger teammate. "It's okay. I was in luck - Ken already knows the lay of the land here."

"Thank you, Ken." Sena inclined his head gratefully in Ken's direction. "I apologize for not formally introducing myself earlier. I am Sena Izumi. Codename Laperm."

Ken looked down at his hands, completely covered in fertilizer. "Ken Hidaka. Codename Siberian, as you probably already know."

Sena nodded and smiled. "Well, if you've changed your mind about dinner, the offer is still open. Otherwise, you can grab a seat downstairs in the mission room. Rex should be arriving any time now for our mission briefing."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ken watched Kyou remove his shop apron and hang it up on the hook next to the door. "I think I'll still pass. I'll see you downstairs after dinner."

Making a quick detour to the bathroom to wash off his hands, Ken noticed his reflection the mirror for the first time in many days. Washed out brown eyes ringed with dark circles stared back at him, betraying evidence of sleepless nights spent debating the decision to come back. He raked wet fingers through his hair, surprised by the length it had grown. It nearly covered the back of his neck.

_I guess that's what Yohji meant about the barber._ He considered it for a moment, tilting his head to the left, and decided he liked the new look.

He dried his hands off and walked downstairs to the mission room, taking the oft-fought-over prime spot on the center sofa. He leaned back, his eyes drifting shut as the toll of the previous nights caught up with him.

A harsh feminine voice jolted him awake. "Siberian, I presume?"

His eyes flew open, focusing quickly on an attractive woman in her late-twenties/early-thirties. Steel-gray eyes pinned him in place, the most prominent feature of a narrow face framed with straight blue hair.

"That would be me," he replied tersely. He could tell this was already not starting off as well as he had hoped.

The woman frowned and pursed her lips, clearly unhappy. "I'm Rex. I am here to give Weiss the new mission objective. Am I correct in assuming that your presence here indicates your decision to rejoin Weiss?"

"Rejoin Weiss?" He snorted. He did not know what it was about the woman's manner, but she was already setting off his fuse. "What Weiss? I don't see anything here that resembles the Weiss I knew."

"Really," she drawled, leaning back and placing her right hand on her hip. "I'd be inclined to say the same thing, looking at you."

Ken leaned forward dangerously, right hand unconsciously gripping into a fist. "The only Weiss I knew is dead."

"Oh? Then why are you here?"

Ken considered the question a moment before answering. He flexed his fingers, feeling phantom bugnuks between them. "I'm here to take care of some unfinished business, and to get some answers. Is that sufficient?"

"No." Leaning forward, she stared him directly in the eyes. "Weiss or not, I can care less. You're here to do your job and follow Persia's orders. Otherwise, you can leave right now."

Ken seethed. In the background, he heard footsteps on the stairs. Sena and Kyou were probably finished with dinner, and heading downstairs for the mission briefing. It occurred to him at the same moment that it would probably be a bad idea for his new teammates to see him clashing with their new boss. He needed to stop this now, before his anger got out of control.

"Fine," he spat. "I'll give it a try." Sena and Kyou were at the bottom of the steps now, staring at the confrontation between them. "But I want you to tell me one thing. Was I the only one fool enough to accept Kritiker's offer?"

"Obviously not."

Ken jerked his head to the side, following the voice back to the source. Resting against the wall, eyes closed and expression grim, the former swordsman of Weiss stood with arms crossed.

"Aya?" It was Sena's voice that broke the silence. "Aya! You're back!"

Aya nodded, stepping forward into the light. Finally out of the shadows, Ken was able to get a better look at his former teammate. The first thing he noticed was the braid. He smirked, imaging Yohji's reaction to it. After the crap he had given Ken over a couple of missed haircuts, Aya could expect a full-out inquisition over the new look.

But other than the hair, and a slight update to his wardrobe, Aya appeared much the same as he had the last time Ken had seen him, nearly six months ago. Ken was both relieved and a little disappointed, thinking back to his meeting with Yohji. Maybe Yohji had been onto something - maybe it was time for a change...

But Ken could not help but think that there was something different about Aya that he still had not figured out. He stared at him as Aya retreated back to the shadows, once again leaning against the wall to his right. Sena and Kyou took the sofa to Ken's left, leaving him alone on the central couch. Rex crossed the room to the front and powered on the television, inserting a tape into the VCR, one well-manicured finger poised over the play button...

"Wait," Ken started, looking around the room expectantly. "Is this everyone?"

Rex frowned at the interruption, turning to face him. "Were you expecting someone else, Siberian?"

"I - I..." He looked around the room. Sena blinked at him curiously, and Kyou appeared to be puzzled. Aya, as usual, ignored him. "No, nevermind."

"Then let's start this briefing." Rex moved to the left of the television and dimmed the lights as the tape began to play. The picture flickered, resolving itself into the shadowy figure of Persia, seated with his back turned to the camera. The glare from the window behind him obscured the details of Persia's true appearance; such as it had always been, with all of the previous men named Persia that he had worked under.

_Hiding from us,_ Ken thought dismally. _Just as he always has, no matter who he is._

_Coward._

His dismay furthered when the voiceover started up, and an obviously scrambled voice began speaking.

"A high number of recent suicides in the Ministry for Science and Technology points to a conspiracy within the Ministry to overthrow current technology policy, and change Japan into a technological superpower."

The image of Persia darkened, replaced by a series of headshots. "There have been ten suicides in the past two months alone; the most recent, Kouri Inamura, a clerk for the Atomic Energy Commission." A woman in her late thirties, her hair tied back in a severe bun, frowned off-camera.

"Previous intelligence efforts correlate the suicides to the presence of a new statistics software package being used exclusively within the department." A screenshot of a spreadsheet, with bar charts lining the left side of the page, filled the screen. "The software was developed in-house by a group of college-age software engineers..."

A series of headshots flashed by on the television screen as Persia droned on, but Ken was no longer paying attention. _Software engineers?_ he wondered to himself. _"Previous intelligence efforts"... "college-age software engineers"..._

_Was this the mission?... Did Omi...?_

He balled his fists at his sides, squeezing tight enough to leave small crescent imprints in his palms. How could Persia be so callous, dismissing his fallen comrade so easily?

Would he be dismissed the same way when he died?

The screen flashed to show a building, and Ken buried his anger for the moment to focus again on the mission. Persia's scrambled voice continued to fill the silence of the room with its strange discordant timbre.

"...in this building. Your mission is to eliminate the creators of the software and all existing copies and backup tapes of the program. Additional information will be distributed by Kritiker agents before the mission.

"Hunters of the night, deny these dark beasts their tomorrows."

The screen flickered and dimmed. Rex pushed the eject button on the VCR and raised the lights. Picking up a pile of folders from one of the end tables, she regarded each of them critically. Her gaze lingered on Ken. "Is everyone in?"

Voiced assent issued from all mouths. Ken found himself nodding as he offered his agreement. He did not particularly like this mission - especially the lack of information going into it - but if accepting the mission meant getting some answers to the circumstances surrounding Omi's death, then he was in.

The corners of Rex's mouth turned up slightly, the small smile offsetting her otherwise harsh demeanor. She walked around the room, distributing folders to each member of the team. "This folder contains additional details about the mission and the targets. The mission will commence two days from now. There will be another meeting to map out mission strategy. Further intelligence will be available at that time."

Ken looked at the pitifully thin mission file in hands. 

Granted, he had taken missions with less information before, but that was back when they had Omi as their tactician.

_Omi..._

He risked a glance around the room, noting he was not the only person dismayed at the lack of information. Sena frowned, and Kyou stared at the folder in his lap as if his gaze could burn a hole in it. He wondered, suddenly, if this would be Kyou and Sena's first mission. What a hell of a mission to start with...

Rex cleared her throat. All eyes shifted to train on her. "Are there any questions?"

The clock ticked in the space of the silence. After a half minute, Rex addressed them again. "Fine. Expect to meet back here two days from now at eighteen hundred for the planning meeting. Dismissed."

No one moved while Rex made her way across the floor and up the staircase. As soon as she left, a collective breath expelled, and everyone seemed to move at once. Ken stood and stretched, intent on leaving quickly and avoiding Aya as long as possible.

"Hey Ken!" Sena's voice stopped him mid-movement. He turned in step to face Sena's friendly smile.

He summoned up a smile in response. "Yes?"

Sena tilted his head. "Do you have a place to stay tonight? Because we have a spare room, if you need a place to crash."

_Spare room? Oh no, not..._ "No thank you," he responded quickly, managing to keep his tone even. "I've got an apartment nearby." He was about to end the conversation when a thought occurred to him. "Would it all right if I stopped by tomorrow to do some research on the mission? I don't have a computer at my place," he shrugged, by way of explanation.

Sena was only too happy to comply. "Sure!"

Kyou interceded. "I'll get you a key so that you don't have to deal with the, err, daytime customers." He shifted in place, rubbing the back of his head in apparent embarrassment.

"Ah, thanks. I don't think I'm ready to go back to having a fan club again just yet." Sena blushed and Kyou smiled.

Ken followed Kyou upstairs and obtained a copy of the key to the back door. He thanked Sena and Kyou and headed for the door. As he rotated the handle, he turned around to take a final look around.

Aya stood with his back against the opposite wall, arms folded, staring in his direction. Swallowing the urge to look away, Ken made a point of deliberately meeting Aya's gaze equally. Not a word was spoken during the minute-long stare; finally, Aya broke his gaze, and Ken looked away. He turned the knob of the door and stepped outside into the cold Tokyo night.


	3. Chapter 2

  


**Chapter 2**

  
  


"Hey Omi."

Ken knelt down and placed a spray of zinnias across the foot of the grave marker, overlapping the roses and periwinkles from the previous day. He fumbled with his lighter, and after a moment's effort, managed to light the incense stick at the base. A thin stream of India rose-scented smoke swirled languidly up into the cloudless sky.

Ken remaining kneeling, but did not close his eyes. He had not come here to pray.

"I came back, like I promised, Omi. Promises were always important between us, and I, at least, intend to keep it that way." He paused for a moment and looked around the graveyard. It was early in the day, and the only other visitor in the area was a young woman taking her dog for a walk about ten rows away. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words.

"I decided to return to Weiss." He exhaled; somehow, speaking the words aloud made the weight he had been feeling in his chest dissolve. He continued, "Right now it's only for one mission. I... I want closure, Omi."

The grave marker stared mutely back at him. A middle-aged man jogged past, panting heavily. Ken waited until the man was long gone before speaking again.

"This mission - I guess - it has to be related somehow to the last one." He shook his head. "I don't know how yet, but I will find out. I will avenge you, Omi, I promise."

Tendrils of smoke curled in on themselves, forming a small cloud of incense that hung in the air for a moment before dissipating.

"I don't know about this new Weiss. I think you'd like them - especially Sena," he smiled, "but with half of the team made up of newbies, I don't know how we're going to pull off this mission. Aya's still around, at least, but..."

_...But Yohji isn't,_ he finished silent. _And I haven't decided yet how I feel about that._

"...I guess I'll just have to wait and see how it goes. The mission isn't for another two days, so I'll have some time to check them out. See what they're capable of..."

He broke off, fighting the lump in his throat. He still could not help the feeling that Kritiker was using Sena and Kyou to replace Omi (and Yohji, he presumed); he had tried not to hold it against them, but every time he tried thinking about the team as "Weiss," he was reminded instead of his old teammates, of the empty void left by the loss of their former leader...

Ken swallowed, forcing his voice to work. It came out in a croaked whisper. "I'd have a lot more faith in this mission if it were you in charge of it."

He laughed bitterly. "But I guess there's no helping that, is there?" He looked around the graveyard. It was completely empty. "For that matter, there really isn't much you can do, now, is there?"

The incense burned out. Ken leaned forward and lit a new stick.

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't expect so much; I guess I just... nevermind." He stood up. "I need to get going now, Omi. I promised to do some research for the mission today, and I have a feeling that Sena will have my hide if I don't get there soon."

He smiled fondly. "I promise I'll do my best to get along with them."

_But no one will ever replace you in my heart._

He bowed his head briefly, turned around, and exited the graveyard.

  


------------------------

_zinnia (mixed)_ - Thinking (or in Memory) Of An Absent Friend

  



	4. Chapter 3

  


**Chapter 3**

  
  


"Psst! Kyou! Over here!"

Ken ducked behind a convenient floor display, lying as low as possible while continuing to maintain a view of the nearby customers. "Kyou!"

But rather than attracting the attention of the rather harried-looking newbie florist, the harsh whisper instead caused a giggling group of schoolgirls to investigate. Ken held his body as rigid as possible and sucked in his breath, praying that the girls would not think to look between the refrigeration units in the back of the store in their quest for the perfect bouquet.

His prayers were answered half a minute later, as Kyou made his way to the group and quickly distracted them with a new display of tea roses. He gave a curt nod in Ken's direction and mouthed the words "one minute" as he led the girls up to the register with their purchases. Ken squeezed out from between the refrigeration units and quietly collapsed back to the floor, out of sight.

"Hey, umm, Sena," he heard Kyou's voice call out over the chatter. "I need to take a quick five-minute break. I'll be right back." Not bothering to listen for Sena's answering assent, Ken made for the door, waiting just inside of the building for Kyou to escape.

"Err... sorry about that." Kyou wiped soil-covered hands on his apron self-consciously. "I knew you were there for at least five minutes, but I couldn't for the life of me get away..."

"Welcome to life at the Koneko," Ken quipped.

"Yeah, um, well... I never thought being a florist could be so tiring." Kyou shifted in place, looking down at his feet. "So what did you need?"

It was Ken's turn to feel self-conscious. "Actually, I was going to ask Sena, but it looked like there was no way I'd be able to get him out of there for another half hour."

Kyou smiled knowingly. Ken continued, "Anyhow, Sena told me yesterday that it would be all right if I used one of your computers to do some research for the mission today, since I don't have one of my own.

"And then I got here today, and realized that the computer wasn't where I expected it to be. And I didn't want to intrude on anyone's privacy..."

Kyou nodded, immediately understanding. "Follow me," he called over his shoulder, already making his way upstairs. At the top of the stairs, Kyou made a sharp right into a room that was situated practically behind the staircase.

Ken felt a chill the moment he walked into the room. _Oh god,_ he thought to himself, _I am so glad I turned down Sena's offer last night..._

It had been many months, but the room looked almost exactly the same as the last time he had seen it. In the far right corner, Kyou stood next to the large oaken desk, gesturing at the desktop machine perched atop.

Steeling himself, Ken crossed the room and joined Kyou, restraining the urge to look around the room surrounding him. It would only awaken unwelcome memories; once-pleasant memories made painful by the events of the recent past. He slipped into the familiar computer chair and wordlessly began booting up the computer while Kyou fussed with something on the floor to the right of the desk.

"Here you go," Kyou offered, setting a thin laptop in the empty space to the right of the keyboard. "I disabled all of the password-protection programs I could manage, but there's still a couple I'm working on. If you think you might need any of the encrypted stuff, let me know later and I'll try to work on it tonight."

Ken was flabbergasted. "You broke the encryption on this machine?" he asked, obviously impressed.

"Well," Kyou stumbled, blushing slightly, "from the look of it, it was obviously meant to be broken. I haven't been able to touch the private files - the encryption was far beyond anything I've encountered before."

Ken nodded; Kyou was more correct than he could possibly know. "Well, regardless, I appreciate your help. Hopefully I'll be able to find something useful in this mess by the time you and Sena escape from the shop."

Kyou flushed. "Speaking of that... I really should go back down there. Sena is probably overwhelmed right now, unless Aya got back early from his deliveries..."

That comment stopped Ken up short.

_Aya? Doing deliveries?_

_What was this world coming to?_

Ken nodded, absently watching Kyou leave out of the corner of his eye, as he turned back to consider the two computers at his disposal. The desktop machine had always been the primary machine used for mission research, and was the machine most commonly utilized for filing post-mission reports. He did not doubt that, given a few hours, he could at the very least extract the parameters of the last mission, if not a detailed mission plan.

However, the laptop offered the possibility of finding actual data downloaded during the previous mission. Ken was certain he recognized it when he saw it; it was the same laptop Omi toted with him on countless missions... the same one he had used to get them out of innumerable scrapes...

_And probably still holds the information Omi downloaded during the mission, before..._

Ken felt the blood drain from his face. He turned away, swallowing hard, and pressed the heels of his hands flat against the desk to force his fingers steady as he brought up a command prompt window on the desktop machine, quickly listing the contents of the home directory.

Scanning the listed files, nothing was readily obvious, and he was about to give up and go about searching via brute force when a folder entitled "Images" distracted him. Frustrated, and a bit curious about the contents, Ken gave into his curiosity and opened the folder.

A quick glance, and he closed the window hastily, stepping back up one level in the file structure hierarchy. The filenames made it immediately evident that the folder was not mission-related.

Shaking, he stood up and walked a circle around the room, trying desperately to calm himself. _Those pictures..._ He balled his fists, looking up at the ceiling as if for guidance. _Those were Omi's pictures..._

He remembered the day clearly enough. Shortly before Weiss's disbandment, Omi had gotten the four of them together, and insisted on taking pictures of everyone with his new digital camera. At first they were apprehensive, but eventually even surly Aya had been won over by Omi's charm.

Why did the pictures bother him so much? He should have expected to find something like that - especially on a computer that belonged to and had been used by Omi more than anyone else. He exhaled sharply, remorse cut with bitterness rising steeply within his gut. He swallowed, knowing full well that if he continued to function in this current state, he would become a hindrance rather than an aid in the upcoming mission. He needed to get over his grief; he needed to let go...

_If only everything surrounding me didn't serve to remind me of him,_ he thought bitterly.

Angrily, he plopped into the chair and turned his attention back to the computer. He was determined now to find the information he needed; he refused to let his inability to cope with the loss of Omi prevent him from avenging his comrade's death. With a newly focused mind and finely honed determination, Ken set about searching the file system for information once again.

By the time Ken thought to check the computer's clock an hour later, he had found a transcript of the mission objective, a map, and a file containing bios of the programmers presumed to be involved. The map and bios were depressingly familiar; he was fairly certain the map was identical to the one in the mission file Rex had handed him, and he recognized the names of all but two of the programmers from the list of targets for the current mission.

_Hell, this is probably the origin of that same list,_ he thought with resigned bitterness.

_And I'm willing to bet the missing programmers have already been eliminated._

The transcript proved to be the most interesting of the data. It detailed a two-man reconnaissance mission, with the overall objective to obtain a copy of the software linked to the suicides. One person was assigned to concentrate on data retrieval, while the second scouted the area and eliminated any potential eyewitnesses.

Ken surmised easily that Omi had accepted the task of data retrieval. He had completed similar missions countless times, and Ken was certain that Kritiker did not employ a single person more skilled in hacking.

What surprised him was the confirmation that a secondary agent had been assigned to the mission. Tactically, it made perfect sense; no matter how excellent the assassin, a reconnaissance mission required the complete attention of the data retrieval specialist, and this particular mission was too risky and too important to allow the agent to go solo.

As his mind distilled the information, Ken felt his blood beginning to boil. When he had first received news of Omi's death, he had automatically assumed that it had been an accident, or the result of his own negligence. But to discover that another agent had been on the same mission - another agent whose specific function had been to watch out for Omi as he concentrated on his mission -

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, knuckles white, and tried not to hyperventilate. He needed to concentrate, focus; quell his rage long enough that he could find the other bastard assigned to this mission and demand some answers from him.

After he beat the shit out of him.

Scowling at the computer screen, Ken swore as he hit yet another dead-end in his search. He had already searched the mission reports and the mail logs on both machines to no avail, and now the login history appeared useless as well. He slammed his hands against the desk, his patience near-gone and his anger mounting.

"Did the desk do something to offend you?"

Ken spun abruptly in his chair, eyes narrowed, and glared at the man standing silhouetted in the doorway. Two hours of frustrated, futile searching killed any trace of civility that might have otherwise warmed his voice.

"What the hell do you want, Aya?"

Aya moved smoothly across the room, unaffected and impenitent, and took his place against a bookshelf to Ken's left. In direct contrast to Ken, he presented the very picture of calm and complete composure. "Kyou informed me that you were doing research for the next mission. I thought I'd offer my assistance."

Ken turned sullenly away and stared at the computer screen. "How? I've already combed through the entire directory tree looking for clues, and I've hit nothing but dead ends all afternoon!"

Aya remained unperturbed by his teammate's building rage. He regarded Ken coolly. "Then why not try asking the other person involved in the mission?"

"Because no matter how hard I look, I can't find him. Argh!" He slammed his fists on the desk, causing the monitor to shake.

"I'm right here."

The words took a moment to penetrate the haze clouding Ken's mind. He turned slowly, deliberately, and stared Aya directly in the eye. "Explain," he demanded tersely.

"You already received the intelligence report from the mission. Was something unclear?"

Ken's body shook with repressed rage. "'Was something unclear?' Isn't it fucking obvious?!" He rose from the chair and stalked across the room to face Aya. Once there, he reached out and grabbed the other man's shoulders, pulling himself nearly face-to-face with him. His voice was low and deadly, betraying none of the rage that gripped the rest of his body.

"Explain to me why Omi is dead when you were supposed to be protecting him."

Aya met his gaze coldly. "I had nothing to do with Omi's death."

"The hell you didn't!" Ken released Aya suddenly, pushing him hard back against the bookcase. He pulled back and threw his right fist at Aya's face, not particularly caring where it hit so long as it hit hard. Aya dodged easily, grabbing the wrist to hold in place while he blocked Ken's follow-up left hook.

Restraining him completely now by only the wrists, Aya glared harshly at Ken. "Get a hold of yourself, Siberian!"

Ken shook convulsively and continued to fight to free his wrists from Aya's firm hold. When it became clear a minute later that Aya was not going to release him, he abated and ceased struggling, turning his face to the side in shame at his loss of self-control.

Aya waited another minute before releasing his hold on Ken's wrists. He folded his arms over his chest and waited for Ken to speak. When it became apparent that Ken was not going to speak, Aya straightened his back and moved as if to leave.

The movement in his peripheral vision startled Ken into speaking. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Since it appears this conversation is over, I am leaving. When you regain control over yourself, you can find me in the den." Aya strode across the room and exited before Ken could think to stop him.

Ken collapsed to the floor and cradled his head in his hands. "Fuck!"

He almost wished that Aya had punched him back. For as much as it would have pissed him off, it probably would have served him right. What the hell had he been thinking? Aya was his teammate, and he had no business attacking him, regardless of the circumstances! It was just... Aya's words, his manner... the callous way he dismissed Omi... it made him so angry, so furious, he could barely control himself!

He shut his eyes and took deep breaths, practicing the calming techniques he had learned during long months spent in the hospital. After two minutes, his heart rate dropped almost back to normal, and he felt the chill grip him that always accompanied a drop in his blood pressure. He hugged his arms around himself and rocked in place until the chill subsided and his body returned to normal.

Finally back in control of himself, Ken staggered to his feet and reached out for the wall, to steady himself. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Riding out his rages always took a lot out of him.

Briefly, he mulled his options for the rest of the afternoon. Attempting to look at the insidious software itself was out of the question. Ken knew his limitations, and with math never having been one of his strong points, statistics was definitely a no-go. He could go back and scour the computer files again, on the slim hope that he managed to overlook something during his previous searches.

Or, he could suck in his pride, and apologize to Aya.

He weighed the final option carefully. While it might cost him a few bruises, he was fairly certain that it was the option with the highest likely success rate among his choices; two minutes of arguing with Aya had yielded more answers than the two hours previous spent hacking around the mission computers.

Resolved to his doom, Ken walked back to the desk and shut down the computers. He jogged down the steps, two at a time, and made a sharp right into the den. Aya sat on the stuffed armchair in the far corner with his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The finance section of today's paper lay folded across his lap, open to first page of the stock listings.

Aya raised his head, acknowledging Ken's presence, as he removed his glasses and placed them on the end table atop the paper he had been reading. "Did you need something?"

Ken smiled thinly. "Look, Aya, I wanted to apologize for going off - "

Aya cut him off with a gesture. "Consider it the past." He gestured to the armchair to his left. Ken walked over and took the seat gratefully. "Do you want to talk now?"

Ken exhaled. "Yeah. I just wanted to ask a few questions."

Aya seemed to consider Ken for a moment. "About the mission, or the aftermath?"

Ken fidgeted. "A little of both, I guess."

Aya leaned back into the armchair and tilted his head back. "I'm not sure I have the sort of answers you're looking for."

"Well, I can't know until I ask, right?" Aya inclined his head in silent affirmation. Steeling himself, Ken braved his first question.

"How did Omi die?"

The silence hung in the air for a moment. Ken looked expectantly at Aya, impatience making his hands twitch.

Aya's brows were knit in a look of confusion. He sighed, the exhalation resounding loudly in the empty room. "I don't know."

"What?!" Ken stared at Aya with wide, shocked eyes. "But - "

"I know that he was shot at least twice during the mission." Aya paused. He seemed to be considering his words very carefully. When he spoke next, it was in a flat, clinical tone. "When I found him, he was lying unconscious at the bottom of the first-floor staircase. I tried to rouse him, but when that failed, I drove him straight to the hospital.

"The last time I saw Omi, the technicians were wheeling him into the operating room on a gurney."

Ken pondered Aya's words. "You didn't go to the viewing?"

"Closed casket."

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a spell, each lost in their own thoughts and memories. Ken thought back to the day almost a week ago, bringing flowers to two graves because he did not know which one held Omi's remains.

Suddenly, the answer to that question seemed very important.

"Do you..." he started, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "Do you happen to know which marker Omi's buried under?"

"Neither." Aya spoke quickly, heading off Ken's forthcoming objection. "When Omi discovered his grandfather was still alive, he specified to Kritiker that his remains be sent to his grandfather's estate for proper internment, should he die while on mission."

"Oh." So the markers were nothing more than memorials, he reasoned dourly. _Or decoys,_ his mind whispered, thinking back to the last grave he visited the day he ran into Yohji.

The silence of the room became oppressive. Ken knew there had been more questions he had wanted to ask, but the somber atmosphere, combined with Aya's shocking answers, drove them from the forefront of his mind.

He needed time to think; needed time to sort and reason through the information Aya had imparted, and figure out why it bothered him so much.

And he knew just the place to go.

Deep in thought, Ken rose from the chair and absently began walking to the door. He was halfway across the room when a hand grasped his shoulder tightly, stopping him mid-step.

"Ken..." Aya's voice sounded softly in his ears, his words spoken aloud only for Ken's benefit. "I know you cared deeply about Omi, and that you were closer to him than anyone else."

Ken swallowed, nodding slowly. Aya continued, "But remember that Omi made his own choices, and he lived and died by them.

"Omi will always live on as long as you remember him in your heart." The hand unclasped itself, and the warmth disappeared from his shoulder, but Ken did not move from where he had stopped for a full minute.

His body had begun shaking again.

  



	5. Chapter 4

  


**Chapter 4**

  
  


His right hand gripped the wrapped stems convulsively as he gathered the courage to speak.

"I just wish someone would tell me what's going on."

Flowers sprinkled forth from Ken's tilted hand as he relaxed his grip, landing concentrically on the ground in a disordered splay. Freesia mixed in the grass, along with roses, zinnias, and periwinkles; the effect was chaotic, but surprisingly beautiful. Ken tossed the empty wrapper in a trash receptacle behind him and knelt to the ground among the flowers, careful to avoid crushing them with his body.

He pulled an incense stick out of his coat and leaned forward to place it in the holder at the base. It was only when he neared within an inch of it that he noticed the still-smoldering half stick protruding from the holder.

_That's strange,_ he wondered, thinking back to earlier in the day. _There's no way the stick I lit this morning could have lasted this long._

Suddenly suspicious, he looked around the graveyard. No other life forms were visible in the dying rays of the setting sun.

_Well, maybe Aya decided to come by and pay his respects,_ Ken reasoned. _He's probably not the sort that would leave flowers._

He turned back to the grave marker, but found himself unable to stop staring at the half-burned incense. Somehow, he did not feel right talking to Omi when it was a stranger's incense burning at the base. His conversations were between he and Omi alone; the presence of the foreign scent both distracted and reminded him of the fact that he was not the only person who mourned Omi Tsukiyono.

Twilight had closed in by the time the incense stick burned out. Ken quickly lit a new stick and replaced it in the holder. He bowed his head and breathed in the heady India-rose scented smoke as he collected his thoughts.

"Hi Omi," he began unsteadily, almost shyly. "Long time no see, huh?"

A light breeze disrupted the stream of incense, pulling it briefly off to the right. Ken watched anxiously to make certain the incense remained lit. Only when he was convinced it would stay burning did he allow himself to relax.

Idly, he picked a freesia up from the grass next to him and held it up for inspection.

"I brought some more flowers...freesia, your favorite." He continued talking quickly, fighting the tightness that suddenly gripped his throat. "I went all over Tokyo to find them. Even though I should have started in the most obvious place first. I don't know, I guess at the time I just didn't want to face them, didn't want to go in there until I'd made my decision..."

He trailed off abruptly. Above him, a few stars were just visible on the horizon.

"But then it didn't matter any more. I no longer had an excuse to avoid them."

Reverently, he placed the flower directly at the base of the marker. "You probably even grew these ones yourself. They're beautiful, of course. You always had a way with flowers..."

To his mind's eye a vision came, unbidden, of Omi humming as he gently placed a pot in the front window, turning it so that the smallest flower would receive the most sunlight. When he inquired why he had not just cut the flower off, Omi turned and smiled at him.

"The smallest one may not be the prettiest or the sturdiest, but it's often the one that smells the sweetest. Anything can shine as long as you give it a chance."

Ken smiled fondly. Omi had been right, of course. A week later he found that same flower in a vase on the table, sweetening the kitchen air with its resplendent fragrance.

He shook his head, dismissing the pleasant memory to the recesses of his mind for the time being. He had not come here to reminisce; he had more urgent things to reflect upon, and this was the only place, it seemed, that he could find peace of mind.

"Sorry, Omi. I'm very distractable right now, it seems. It's been a..." he paused, considering his words carefully. "...a very trying day."

He smiled sardonically. _Now that is an understatement if I ever heard one._

"I spoke with Aya today."

His smile vanished. He sucked in his breath, steadying himself.

"It... er, could have gone better, I guess." He dropped his eyes. He could almost feel Omi's censuring gaze radiating from the grave marker.

He compelled himself to continue. "See, I was trying to find out about your last mission. And I'd spent the entire afternoon looking but I couldn't find anything - I'd just about hit my breaking point - when he walked, no, _waltzed_ into the room and told me -"

Ken stopped to catch his breath. He was beginning to hyperventilate.

"He told me he was on the mission when you died."

The grave marker stared dispassionately back at him. Above, the stars twinkled brightly in the night sky. Ken hugged his arms tightly around himself. He waited until he felt he was calm enough to continue before speaking again, in more subdued whisper.

"I... I kinda lost it." He dropped his head in shame. "I don't know what came over me, I just wanted to hurt him, needed to see him bleed..."

He gripped his fists tightly at his side and shut his eyes. He could still see the cold fury in Aya's eyes when he had lunged at him.

"He stopped me, of course," he finished. "And when I finally calmed down, he told me about the mission."

His confession past, Ken finally allowed himself to look back up at the grave. The incense had burned to the end of the stick. He pulled another stick out of his coat and lit it, breathing deep its calming scent before placing it into the holder with unsteady hands.

"I was so angry with him. I was angry with him because he was supposed to protect you. I was angry with him because he couldn't save you. I was angry with him, because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find anything out about your last mission, and he knew all along and never offered the information.

"But I guess most of all, I was angry with him because I couldn't save you. And he made a convenient target." He slumped his shoulders. "I guess that's what this all comes down to, then, right? Me and my misplaced anger."

Ken sighed. He might as well say it; he had danced around the subject enough already.

"And that's really the root of it all, right? Because I didn't know, I couldn't be there. I couldn't do anything - not while I was stuck in that damn hospital..."

He bowed his head, forcing himself to continue speaking despite the strain.

"I'll bet you probably knew all about that, though. You probably even knew where Yohji's been for the past six months." He shook his head, a rueful smile beginning to play across his lips.

"No matter what we did, no matter where we went, we never could hide from you. You cared too much to lose us so easily..."

A sudden pang of loneliness struck him hard in the gut. He swallowed, his next words barely louder than the whisper of the wind blowing through the graveyard.

"What happened, Omi?"

_What happened on your last mission?_

_What happened to Weiss?_

_What happened to me?_

The thud of heavy footsteps hitting pavement jostled Ken from his reverie. He narrowed his eyes, watching the passing jogger with ill-concealed suspicion.

_Why does he have to run past here, anyhow?_ he glowered. _Couldn't he find somewhere else to run?_

_Doesn't he know the kinds of people that hang around in graveyards at night?_

Ken chuckled grimly for a moment, before transitioning to a sigh. The mood had been broken, but at least he felt a little better for having talked things out.

He unfolded his legs and stretched, allowing blood to flow into his legs and circulate before attempting to stand. Rising to his feet, he looked down once again at the mess of flowers surrounding the grave.

_Omi really would prefer it this way,_ he decided.

"Well Omi, it's getting late and I've got somewhere I need to go early tomorrow morning. If I get any answers, I'll be sure to let you know."

He considered the grave marker for a moment. "This would be so much easier if you could just talk back, you know? Though," he tilted his head to the side, "I guess it's not as though you're really in there, is it."

The wind whistled past, carrying the grave's silent assent.

Ken shook his head bemusedly. "I should have expected as much. Goodnight, Omi." He bowed, walked three steps back, turned, and jogged back to the entrance.

Tomorrow he would get his answers.

One way or another.

  


------------------------

_freesia_ - Trust, Innocence

  



	6. Chapter 5

  


**Chapter 5**

  
  


"What the hell do you mean the office is empty?"

The well-groomed woman in front of him folded her arms, regarding him coolly. "I mean exactly as I said," she spoke slowly, her tone frosty. "That office has been empty since Shuuichi Takatori passed away."

He stared at her in stunned disbelief, mounting anger slowly beginning to overtake his initial shock. "But - it looked just like his office! I swear!"

The woman squinted at him. "I assure you that I speak the truth. If you refuse to believe me, I can summon a janitor to open it as proof."

"Yes," he spoke, feeling as though he was finally getting through to the woman. "Please do that."

She turned her back on him with a hmph, too professional to mutter under her breath, but angry enough to let her glare intimidate a subordinate into allowing her the use of a telephone. Once a janitor had been paged, she joined Ken in the hallway outside of the locked office, leaning against the wall and staring fixedly at her well-manicured fingernails - anything to avoid eye contact with the insistent crazy man to her left.

Ten minutes later a janitor arrived. A brief struggle ensued with the aging lock; after a couple of minutes, a triumphant click heralded eventual success. Ken rushed to step behind the man as the door slowly creaked open.

A gust of musty air forced Ken to halt mid-step. In the dim room, a stray beam of sunlight slipped between a crack in the venetian blinds, refracting off of dust motes scattered floating in the air. A stack of old computer printouts, yellowing with oxidation, rustled atop a desk covered in a fine layer of dust.

Ken stood still in place, staring into the room with a dumbfounded expression. Vaguely he noted the woman pushing past him a moment before the room was flooded in fluorescent light.

"Well?" She tapped her fingers expectantly on her right hip.

Ken took a few cautious steps into the room. He allowed his gaze to travel the length of the walls. The room was almost exactly as he remembered it the last time he had been there, when the first man he had called Persia, Shuuichi Takatori, recruited him into Weiss. The same pictures hung on the walls; the same filing cabinets were still pushed against the back wall. The room had been left for the most part untouched. The empty fish tank to his left testified to the fact that at least someone, probably Manx, had thought to take care of things before the room was mothballed.

_A dead end._ He clenched his fists in frustration, the bile beginning already to rise in the back of his throat. What the hell? He had been so certain - this had to be the room, the way the light reflected off the walls -

He turned face the woman, struggling to maintain civility in the face of her reluctant assistance. "You were correct," he grudgingly admitted, bowing his head. "I apologize for inconveniencing you."

She pursed her lips. Her eyes drifted down to his balled fists. "Obviously you're not satisfied with this answer."

He swung his head back up to regard her coldly. "I don't exactly have a lot of choice in the matter, do I?"

"No. I imagine not." Reaching up, she palmed off the lights: a clear dismissal.

Ken stomped out of the room, pausing in stride only long enough to hear the door click shut behind him. He assumed it would be locked once he left, the office relegated once again to the dust and shadows.

_Another dead end,_ he thought bitterly. He bowed his head, weaving quickly through the maze of hallways back to the elevator. The better part of his morning was wasted; the sooner he got out of this building, the sooner he could resume his search, the sooner he could twist the answers he needed out of that coward's body...

A sharp jolt of pain lanced his arm as his fist connected solidly with the wall. "Dammit!" He leaned against the elevator doors, panting heavily.

_Calm down,_ he reminded himself fiercely. _Anger won't get you the answers you need..._

A loud ding made him jump back just in time to avoid getting run over by a flustered accountant. As soon as the elevator was vacated, he got in and rode it in silence down to the lobby. Pushing his way through the milling throngs of people, he breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped outside into the late morning sunlight.

Obviously this endeavor had been a failure. He considered the problem for a moment. How did one find Persia, without the man himself telling you his location?

Spying a familiar blue-haired figure in the distance, the answer smacked him fairly across the face.

_Rex._

Rex was Persia's secretary; obviously, the woman had to report to him at some point...

Careful to make certain she did not see him, he followed her at a safe distance, closing the gap slowly as his confidence grew. As he neared her, he began to pick up snippets of conversation; clearly, the woman was too preoccupied with her phone call to notice the man trailing behind her...

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

A pause. Ken leaned forward, curious.

"But can he be trusted?"

_What?!_ Suddenly interested, Ken strained his ears, not daring to follow her any more closely; the last thing he needed right now was Rex catching him eavesdropping...

Ahead of him, Rex sighed. "Fine. But don't forget - six months is a long time. If he gets out of control, you might be better off cutting your losses and removing him from the team. The last thing you need right now is another wildcard."

_She has to be talking to Persia!_ He seethed; it was all he could do to keep calm and hold his cover. _That bitch! What gives her the right -_

"All right." Rex's clearly displeased voice cut his musings short. "I'll be there in another ten minutes. Rex out." The phone clicked shut and disappeared into the left pocket of her purple blazer.

Ken held his breath, keeping absolutely still in the shadows as Rex increased the distance between them. Now that she was free of distraction, he expected she would be more alert to her surroundings. A confrontation with the woman was inevitable; he preferred that when it occurred, it happen under his terms - if at all possible after he had his little talk with Persia...

Once he had deemed Rex sufficiently far enough ahead, he slipped out of the shadows and began tracking her anew. Two rights and a quick left found him in the business district, weaving through a crowded sidewalk as inconspicuously as possible while continuing to trail his target. He followed her like this for the distance of about a half mile, past cafes and storefronts, and into the thickening crowd of businessmen on their way to an early lunch.

He cursed. Rex was getting harder and harder to follow - he could only barely make her out in the crowd now -

"Pardon me!" He heard the excuse before he felt the impact of a hard shoulder into his chest, stunning him momentarily and knocking the breath from him. He spun angrily in place to scowl at the departing businessman. The man was already long gone, lost in the teeming crowd.

_Already long gone... Shit! Where is she?_ His heart raced as he wildly scanned the vicinity for the distinctive blue head of hair, alternately praying and swearing under his breath that he had not lost her...

_No... No... There!_

A swinging door to the left caught his eye. He raced over to the building just in time to catch a glimpse of blue hair as it disappeared behind closing elevator doors.

_This has to be the place!_ He threw open the door marked "Office Solutions International" and strode into the lobby, making a beeline for the set of elevators directly in front of him.

A body imposed itself in Ken's path, halting him halfway to his goal.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm going to need to see some ID."

_What the hell?!_

He smiled thinly, keeping his tone as civil as possible. "I'm sorry, I appear to have left it at home. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend -"

"There are no meetings scheduled this afternoon." An iron grip on his right arm arrested his forward movement. Ken's smile turned cold.

"Well, if that's the case, then I'll just have to schedule one myself."

He drew his left fist back and pivoted forward, slamming it home into the man's jaw. A sickening crack resounded a moment before the man dropped to the floor, unconscious. Ken strolled past the body and punched the elevator button, absently rubbing his knuckles.

The doors opened immediately to admit him. He depressed the fifth floor button, reasonably certain Rex had made the same selection only minutes before.

He scowled at the closed doors as the elevator began to rise.

_I'm beginning to get really tired of this shit._

First the sketchy mission plan... then the decoy office...

And now, what was beginning to look like an almost complete cover-up of the previous mission...

_Kritiker is hiding something,_ he seethed. _And I'll bet whatever it is has something to do with Omi's death._

He stormed out of the elevator the instant the doors opened, heading straight for the office at the end of the hallway. Approaching the closed door, he began to make out a very familiar voice arguing loudly with the office's occupant.

"It's too much of a risk! You need to pull him out now! You can't -"

A loud bang echoed in the corridor as the door was thrown open violently, flooding the dark office with the harsh fluorescent incident light of the hallway. Ken stood silhouetted in the doorway, fists balled and panting heavily.

Rex was the first to regain her composure. Coolly, she reached into her purse, pulling out a small handgun and aiming it directly at the center of Ken's chest. "Siberian," she barked, ice glinting in her cold gray eyes. "Explain yourself."

Heedless of the danger, Ken rushed blindly forward, desperate to get his hands around the neck of the still-shadowed figure of Persia. The loud click of the safety disengaging stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Another step, and my finger slips." Rex took a step forward to emphasize her words, maintaining her aim as she squinted at him contemptuously. "Weiss has no need for traitors."

Ken seethed, flexing his fingers, wishing desperately for the feeling of cold steel claws between his knuckles. Just a quick lunge - faster than she could fire, he was certain - and she would be out of the way, gone, leaving him free to concentrate on Persia, to grab him by the neck and -

"Stand down."

A soft voice cut through the silence of the room.

"Both of you."

Naked shock washed through Ken's body as the seated figure spun in his chair, finally revealed in the light for the first time.

_Sena?_

The young man standing in front of him could have easily passed for the boy's twin. Bright blue eyes a shade lighter, maybe, and his voice perhaps a pitch deeper...

_That voice..._

Persia moved to the left of Rex and placed his right hand on her elbow, gently guiding the barrel to the floor. A simple nod, and she stepped aside.

The weary smile that graced Persia's lips did not extend to light his sad eyes.

"Welcome to Kritiker, Ken-kun."

Stunned beyond comprehension, Ken nodded dumbly, mouth agape, as his mind raced desperately to make sense of the confusing maelstrom of emotions triggered by those four simple words.

He staggered forward, reaching out blindly as if to caress the face in front of him, to reassure himself of what his mind refused to acknowledge. He stopped just short, unwilling or unable to confirm the reality of his absurd vision, of this bizarre fantasy...

_That voice... no, it couldn't be!_ There was only one person with that voice - one person who would dare address him so familiarly - one person, and that person -

"Omi?" He heard the name escape his lips before his mind could act to stop it.

... that person could not possibly be standing in front of him right now.

Persia winced; to his right, Rex frowned and narrowed her eyes. "'Omi?'" she repeated aloud, brows knit together in perplexity. "What do you mean, 'Omi'?"

A jolt of anger burned through him, eradicating all traces of shock from Ken's system. Sensing danger, Persia threw his arm between the two and moved to separate them. Ken was too fast, however; leaning forward dangerously, he put his face so that it was only inches apart from Rex's own. "What do I mean?" he repeated mockingly, glaring evenly into steel-gray eyes. "I mean," he leaned closer, almost nose-to-nose, "Omi, as in Omi Tsukiyono!"

"Siberian!" A strong hand grabbed the fist he had not realized was already raised in the air and forcibly turned him to face the other occupant of the room. "Get a hold of yourself!"

_Get a hold of yourself,_ his mind echoed dimly.

Where had he heard that before?

Censuring blue eyes pinned him in place far more easily and effectively than the strong grasp on his wrist. He met the younger man's stare evenly, unwilling to back down without getting some answers, first.

After a full minute of silence, Persia was the first to relent, releasing the firm grip on Ken's wrist as he turned to address his subordinate. "Rex," his tone was still sharp, "I would ask you to please leave the room. Hidaka-san and I have some things we need to discuss in private."

Rex looked horrified. "But Persia -"

He waved her away with a simple gesture of dismissal. "I will be fine." He turned back and regarded Ken with what could only be hopeful eyes. "It appears that Ken-kun and I have a lot of catching up to do."

Rex scowled at the obvious familiarity. She looked as if she was about to say something, but changed her mind before the words made it to her lips. "Fine," she scoffed, eying Ken disdainfully. "But I will expect a full explanation later, Mamoru."

Her parting shot was not lost on Ken. As soon as she slammed the door shut behind her, he rounded on Persia, fresh anger burning anew.

"Mamoru?" he hissed, already feeling the telltale jump in his heart rate. Suddenly, the air around stifled him; he struggled to draw his breath through the haze of thick emotion. "Mamoru?!"

Persia held his ground firmly as Ken advanced on him. In stark contrast to Ken, he remained completely calm; only his eyes betrayed deep sadness within.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice halting Ken mid-stride. "That is my name." A little louder, he proclaimed without a trace of hesitation in his voice the words Ken never thought he would hear spoken aloud in his entire lifetime. 

"I am Mamoru Takatori."

"No!" Ken lunged forward, grabbing Persia by the shoulders and shaking him.

"You are not Mamoru! No! No! No!" He punctuated each denial with a harsh shake. Persia's eyes went wide with shock. "You are not Mamoru. You are Omi Tsukiyono!"

"Ken-kun," Persia whispered sadly, turning pained eyes upon his former comrade.

Ken released him suddenly, pushing him hard back against the desk. He took a shuddering breath, the fire in his veins quickly turning to ice. "Don't call me that," he spoke slowly, glaring daggers at the man in front of him. "Don't you _dare_ call me that, _Mamoru_."

"If that is your wish, then I will honor it," Persia replied stiffly, holding his head high. Though his voice betrayed no emotion, his eyes shimmered tellingly.

Moving as if to return to his desk, he found his path instead blocked by Ken's body. Persia leveled his gaze at Ken, summoning as much dignity as possible into his posture. "If you are finished, I have a mission to plan."

"Just tell me one thing, Omi." The name slipped from his lips without Ken meaning it. He scowled at the lapse, but continued, pressing himself close into Persia's personal space; he still had a question he needed to ask, and he refused to leave until he had an answer.

"Why did you fake your own death?"

Persia's countenance hardened. "The mission was compromised. Bombay had no choice."

"You and I both know damn well that's not the reason!" Ken glared at Persia contemptuously. "The mission has been compromised countless times and it's never made a difference."

Ken leaned in close to Persia, forehead-to-forehead, forcing the younger man to look into his eyes. Persia met his gaze with equal intensity. "I don't care why Bombay died," Ken whispered huskily.

"I want to know why Omi Tsukiyono had to die as well."

Persia's eyes softened; for a moment, Ken thought he was finally going to get a straight answer from the man. But then Persia closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Ke - Siberian," he corrected himself. He regarded his former best friend with a sad smile. "You're just going to have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Ken's anger flared anew. "_Trust you?_ You can't even answer a single damn question of mine, and you expect me to _trust_ you? What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

Persia glared coldly at Ken. "You are Weiss." He straightened up, not bothering to hide the hurt in his eyes. "And if you will not trust Persia, perhaps at the very least you will trust Omi."

The tension hung thick in the air for an extended moment; finally, Ken pulled away.

"I would," he spat bitterly, his words laced with venom, "but unfortunately, Omi Tsukiyono is dead."

He turned his back on his best friend; his former comrade; the person he cared more for than anyone else in the world, and strode across the room to the exit.

Opening the door, Ken paused only long enough to give a final, parting comment.

"Omi Tsukiyono is dead...

"Because Mamoru Takatori killed him."

  



	7. Chapter 6

  


**Chapter 6**

  
  


"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Clods of earth sailed through the air, each screamed word punctuated by a kick and a shower of soil from the newly turned grave. Crushed and broken periwinkles dotted the landscape, scattered and trampled in the wake of Ken's fury.

Lost in the blinding haze of his anger, one symbol burned in his vision, a looming pale monument, deriding his rage and cheapening his sorrow. Panting heavily, he advanced on the cold marble with clenched fists and drew his right arm back, slamming his fist forward into the blasphemous cenotaph.

The sharp crack of knuckles striking unyielding stone registered in Ken's mind but a moment before excruciating pain shot straight up to his head and forced him to his knees. Dazedly, he pulled his hand away and stared in stupefied wonderment at the bright red blood welling up from his rapidly purpling knuckles. A streak of blood trailed lazily down the side of the marker, dripping into the etched kanji and rendering the name in sanguine.

_TAKATORI MAMORU._

Still panting, Ken hung his head and continued pounding on the marker futilely with his left fist.

"Why? Why did you do it?"

He collapsed in on himself, throwing his arms around the base of the marker in forlorn embrace. The cold marble burned on contact with his cheek; sharp edges of the stone dug into his palms where he gripped it convulsively. His entire body shook with repressed emotion, his breath expelled in ragged gasps.

"Why?"

He swallowed hard, blinking furiously back the hot sting of tears prickling his eyes. He fought the tightness in his throat, each word a struggle to utter aloud.

"Why did you lie to me? Why didn't you tell me? Dammit, _why_?!"

The obdurate stone offered no answers. Bloody kanji characters, sharp contrast against the stark white limestone, mocked him, belittled the pain and turmoil in his soul...

Almost reverently, Ken reached up with his good hand to trace the characters.

"Takatori Mamoru..." he muttered low, under his breath.

_"Yes. That is my name."_

_"I am Mamoru Takatori."_

"Takatori Mamoru," he repeated louder, smearing a trail of blood onto unadulterated white marble, underscoring the name in crimson.

"Takatori Mamoru," he gripped his fist tight, the words a hysterical whisper through the uncontrollable shaking in his voice, "why did you kill Omi Tsukiyono?"

Silence resounded loudly in response; only the sharp whip of the wind could be heard over the staccato pounding of blood in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the edges of the marker.

_It can't be... no, it_ is not _true!_ He smacked the marble with flat of his palm repeatedly. _Omi would never lie to me! Omi would never betray me!_

His hand stilled less than an inch from the marker.

_Right?_

Images of Omi flooded his mind - smiling, happy Omi, waving triumphantly in the air an exam paper with a perfect score; Omi frowning, eyebrows constricted together in concentration as he laid out positions for an upcoming mission; a melancholy Omi, hands soaked in blood, regret in his eyes for the lives taken and the ones he could not save; Omi, betrayed by his entire family, the boy who grew up too fast, who always cared for everyone around him more than he did for himself...

_Betrayed by his entire family..._

No. Omi Tsukiyono would never betray him.

But Mamoru Takatori might.

"Goddammit!" 

Sticky, bloodied fingers protested as he tried to form a fist with his damaged right hand. Bright lights danced in his vision, the fierce pain from earlier revisiting thrice-fold.

Ken stared in bewilderment at his ruined knuckles, flexing them experimentally. Jabbing pain rushed up in response and quickly stole away his breath. Any doubt he had had about their condition previously was erased immediately by the sudden onset of pain; the numbness in his fingertips only served to further confirm his suspicions.

_Broken,_ he scowled, turning his head to regard the grave marker above him.

_Just like everything else._

Muddied and trampled periwinkles littered the ground surrounding him. Clumps of uprooted turf lay scattered in the lawn, extending as far as the sidewalk; at least one nearby marker bore muddy splotches attesting to the force by which the broken sod had been flung into it. Sullenly, Ken tilted his head down to examine his broken knuckles, wincing slightly as he flexed his fingers once again.

_A mission tonight, and my right hand is completely useless._

Suddenly, the idea of killing targets with only one hand struck him as incredibly funny.

Ken leaned his back against the grave marker and let loose a loud gale of laughter. "Do you hear that, Mamoru?" He placed his left hand against his chest to calm his hysterics. "I've only got half of my hands tonight - maybe I'll only be able to kill half as many people!"

Hysterical laughter continued to bubble up from his throat; breathing was beginning to become a struggle. "You wouldn't like that very much, now would you?"

Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the laughter died abruptly in his throat. Ken leaned forward and rose to his feet, reaching out instinctively with both hands to steady himself again the monument.

"It's all right, Mamoru," he soothed mockingly, stroking the smooth length of the marble with his left hand. "If everything goes through tonight like I'm sure you've planned, there will only be one target left at the end of the mission."

His hand swept off of the edge and tightened into a hard fist. He shivered; suddenly, it seemed the warmth of the afternoon sun was no longer adequate to suppress the chills that racked his body.

Straightening up to his full height, he stood even with the grave marker and regarded it with cold contempt.

"This is far from over, Mamoru Takatori."

He turned his back on the grave and looked heavenward, absently rubbing the broken skin on his knuckles and spreading fresh blood over his fingers. The sun shone brightly down from the cloudless sky in the empty stillness of the mid-afternoon.

"I will get you back, Omi...

"Even if I have to kill Mamoru Takatori to do it."

  



	8. Chapter 7

  


**Chapter 7**

  
  


_Dammit! Why won't you just open?_

Ken yanked the ill-fitting key out of the obstinate lock and leaned against the back door of the Koneko. He had just spent the past five minutes trying to unlock this particular door, so as to slip into the building as unobtrusively as possible.

He had deliberately avoided the Koneko for the rest of the afternoon. He was in no mood for people right now - not his teammates, and most definitely not his fan club. Something that ran much deeper than an irrational bout of antisocial behavior... ever since his breakdown, Ken no longer trusted his control in the face of the screaming mass of humanity brought on by the after school rush.

A nap at his apartment this afternoon, though unintentional, had helped him sleep off the painkillers, and was probably good for him in the long run - especially if tonight's mission ended up running late.

He chuckled grimly to himself. _You mean,_ he reminded himself, _if it takes longer than usual to off the targets. Mustn't be inefficient,_ he thought sardonically, wiggling the fingertips of his tightly bound hand.

His left hand - the good one - held the key up close to his face for inspection. Nothing appeared amiss with it; it had not been bent, warped, or damaged in any way, and looked much the same as it did when it had first been given to him years ago.

_Wait a second._

Ken dug into his jacket pocket and yanked out a nearly identical key, still shiny and looking freshly cut. Suppressing a groan, he pushed it neatly into the lock, and was not at all surprised when it clicked open with almost no effort.

Cautiously he pushed the door inward and looked around the entranceway for his teammates. Finding no one, he slunk into the dark hallway and headed directly for the staircase.

A strong grip on his right shoulder halted his descent two steps from the top.

"Siberian."

He had known who it was even before the woman's sharp alto breached the silence. He reached up, and with deliberate and obvious distaste pried the secretary's manicured fingernails from his shoulder, before turning in place to glare at her.

"Rex."

Cold gray eyes returned the glare evenly. An extended moment passed as they faced down, neither daring to break the spell of silence, each evaluating the other for the first sign of weakness that could be exploited to their advantage.

The stare down lasted a full minute before Rex relented, looking away with a grimace of thinly veiled disgust. Her right hand moved to rest on her hip, atop the holster hidden beneath her purple blazer.

"What do you want?" Ken snapped irritably.

"Where do you think you're going?" She angled her body in such a way that she could throw herself forward in front of him at a moment's notice if necessary.

Ken gripped his left hand in a tight fist. "Downstairs," he answered frostily. "For the pre-mission briefing."

"Oh?" Rex narrowed her eyes. Her fingers absently drummed the handle of the gun strapped to her belt. "I wasn't expecting you." Her eyes perceptively hardened, brows knitting together into a frown. The fingers tapping her waist stilled. "Not after this afternoon."

_Oh no. I'm not playing your game this time, bitch._ "Unlike _certain_ members of Weiss, I will be attending this mission. Now if you'll excuse me..." He inclined his head in exaggerated politeness, reaching his good hand out to grasp the cold metal of the staircase railing.

Rex lunged forward to intercept him, grabbing his right arm and twisting it hard in her direction. "Even like this?"

Fresh blood welled up and seeped through to stain the bandages, as if to prove her point. Ken yanked his arm roughly away. Cradling the injured limb close to his body, he narrowed his eyes, regarding the woman with a cold contempt that was matched in her own stare.

He leaned forward, unclasped his left hand from the railing, and waved the fingers between them. "It only takes one of them to kill." His arm swung outward in an exaggerated arc, a pantomimed slice cutting the air between them. "You'd do well to remember to that."

Rex leaned against the wall, seemingly unfazed by his threat. "And you'd do well to remember the price of betrayal to Kritiker, _Siberian._"

"I won't betray Weiss." Ken clenched the fist at his side. A slight tremble sounded in his voice, a crack in the veneer of thinly-held self control. "Not like Mamoru Takatori."

He turned on his heel and stomped down the stairs, ignoring the sharp intake of breath behind him. _Let her stew on that for a while._ Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he went directly for the center couch. _Bitch thinks she's got it all figured out, just because she's Persia's secretary._ The edges of his vision blurred, just as he felt the too-familiar jump in his heart rate, and the air became a lot harder to breath. He clenched his good hand into a fist and drove it down hard into the cushion of the couch. "Dammit!"

"Whoa! Hey Ken, I know it's been a while, but I was hoping maybe for a more enthusiastic kind of greeting."

Ken almost choked. The rage pounding in his blood dispelled almost instantaneously, replaced by a numbness that threatened to paralyze his limbs. Fighting for ultimate motor control of his limbs, he turned his head slowly behind him, and was rewarded for his efforts by the animated visage of one Yohji Kudou, decked out in what had to be the most outlandish, impractical assassin outfit ever dared in the history of Weiss.

"Y-Yohji?!" His jaw hung open in shock, his ability to string coherent sentences together temporarily lost as a warm glow of something he suspected he once called hope surged through his body. "Yohji?"

"The one and only, kid." Yohji's right hand came down to land on Ken's shoulder, gripping it tightly through the jacket. Ken's jaw continued to remain slack. Realizing any sort of answer was not forthcoming, Yohji tipped his hat into his free hand and yanked it down over Ken's eyes.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Oh, good. You had me worried there for a second there, Hidaka. I thought maybe one of the fangirls broke your heart while I was gone, and took all of your higher brain functions with her."

Ken scowled irritably, shoving the ridiculous hat out of his eyes. Something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle drifted across the room from the sofa to his left. Ken jerked his head quickly in that direction in search of the guilty party.

Kyou's face remained remarkably neutral, but to his right, Sena's eyes danced in mirth above the hand covering his mouth.

Suddenly, a bark of pure, unrestrained laughter burst forth from his mouth. Like a tightly wound spring uncoiling, the tension flowed out of him steadily. His body shook with expulsion of long-buried emotion, but to Ken, the feeling of emptiness was in itself something wonderful. It had been a long time since he had laughed so hard and so freely... Not since...

_No!_ he sharply reprimanded himself. _I refuse to let _him_ ruin this... I refuse to let go of this piece of happiness!_

But the spell had already been broken. His laughter trailed off; the warmth he had felt only a moment ago dissipating in the chill of the room.

Ken pressed himself close against the back of the couch. The sound of a throat being cleared echoed from the base of the stairs, signaling Rex's arrival and the start of the mission meeting. Ken privately wondered what had held up the woman after he had stormed off.

_Maybe I'm not the only person she wanted to talk to tonight._

He shrugged his shoulders. At the very least it had given him a chance to talk to Yohji; he could not have conceived of a better tonic for his disillusioned soul.

_Yes,_ he allowed himself a small smile. _It's good to have Yohji back._

Rex moved to the center of the room and commenced set up for the meeting. Sena and Kyou immediately jumped to their feet to assist; in a matter of minutes, Sena had set up a table in the center of the room and laid out the building schematics, while Kyou booted up his laptop and loaded onto it the contents of the CD handed to him by Rex.

Ken watched the others' activities languidly; it was no different than any of the mission planning sessions he had attended since joining Weiss a few years ago. _Same old play - hell, even the same director,_ he thought with bitter irony, _just a slightly different cast._ His eyes followed Sena and Kyou.

_Except this time they had to call in the understudies._

A playful smack on the shoulder (from Yohji, no doubt) roused him from his reverie enough to notice that Rex was calling the meeting to order. Ken pushed up off of the couch and lumbered forward to stand between Sena and Yohji.

Directly across from him, Rex pressed the heels of her hands flat on the table and leaned forward across the table. She turned her head slowly from the right to the left, a silent appraisal of the men gathered around her. Satisfied, she nodded her head once, her eyes catching and holding Ken's gaze for a moment, a silent challenge in her fierce stare.

"Weiss, we have a lot to cover tonight, so let's just cut to the chase and get things started." Rex reached forward and lifted the laptop from in front of Kyou and placed in the center of the table, on top of the building schematics, facing outward. "In the light of new intelligence gathered by one of Kritiker's operatives, Persia has outlined the mission plan for everyone tonight."

Ken twitched involuntary, gripping his left hand into a fist beneath the table. Feeling eyes on him, he turned his head to the right and caught Abyssinian's mistrustful glare. He clutched the fist tighter, fingernails biting into palm of his hand.

_What the hell is his problem, anyhow?_

He jerked his head away, forcing his focus back to Rex and the mission briefing in progress. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Aya doing the same, and relaxed his hand from its tense grip.

"...it was decided that because of his familiarity with mission locale, and his previous history with this team, our mission specialist will be leading the team for this assignment."

_Huh?_ Next to him, Sena shifted uncomfortably in place. Across from him, Ken could read the confusion plainly written across Kyou's face.

Not surprisingly, Aya was completely unperturbed.

"Balinese, would you please come forward?"

Ken's head swung to his right, just in time to catch Yohji's surreptitious wink. _Yohji?_ He blinked; _if Yohji's the mission specialist, then that means -_

He stared at his old teammate in baffled amazement, snatches of overheard conversations from earlier in the day replaying in his mind to form a much more coherent picture of recent events.

_...That was _Yohji_ she was talking about on the phone with Persia?!_

The easy smile that could only fall from the lips of Yohji Kudou graced the assembled members of Weiss from the spot Rex had been standing only a moment before. Yohji lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his hair once before replacing it, the only visible indication of his nervousness.

"Well, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of meeting me yet," his gaze caught the eyes of both Sena and Kyou, "I'd like to introduce myself. Yohji Kudou, codename Balinese." He tilted his head forward and tipped the hat into his hand in a mock bow. "And for those who missed me..." Yohji positively leered at Aya. "I'm back from my six month sabbatical at the Ministry for Science and Technology, and ready for action."

"Mr. Kudou has been moonlighting as a janitor at the Ministry these past six months," Rex interjected, by way of explanation.

Yohji took the interruption in stride. He threw his hands up in the air melodramatically. "What can I say? Kritiker just doesn't pay well enough." Ken watched with amusement as Yohji shrugged off a dirty look from Rex, instead favoring her with his lady killer smile in return.

"Anyhow," Kudou trailed a finger across the touchpad of the laptop, highlighting a list of names on the screen, "these are our targets tonight. We will arrive at the building at 2100, but the mission will not commence until 2130, when I give the word."

"Why the delay?" Sena beat Ken to the question.

Rex answered instead. "The delay is to give time for Balinese to check the system to verify that all of the targets are present tonight."

"And if they're not?" Aya spoke up for the first time that evening.

Yohji was undeterred. "If not, then we'll hit as many as possible, and destroy the data and the backups tonight. But I have a good hunch they'll be there tonight. The minister will be in tonight, and they never miss a meeting with him."

Aya nodded once, satisfied.

"Weiss will be split into three teams, and each team will work to accomplish a particular objective in the mission." It was Rex speaking again, Ken noted with agitation. Why did the woman always feel the need to interrupt? Hell, at this point, he would rather deal with the damn videotape than have to listen to her! "Because of his familiarity with the building layout and personnel, Balinese will be taking point in the mission. He is responsible for coordinating the positions of all team members and assigning targets."

Rex turned her head to regard Kyou and Aya, in turn. "Havana and Abyssinian are responsible for taking down and wiping the main code server, and eradicating all traces of the program from the network."

Kyou visibly blanched. Rex pursed her lips, the edges of a smile teasing at the ends. "Don't worry, boys. I've brought something to make your lives easier." She reached into her handbag and produced a CD-ROM into her right hand, which she immediately handed off to Aguri.

Kyou accepted it with a quick nod, too nervous to question the gift.

"What is it?"

Aya was not so readily accepting of strange gifts.

Rex regarded him coolly a moment before answering. "A little program Kritiker's been working night and day to cook up, so that you don't have to search out every copy of the software on your own in order to delete it. This will remotely activate each keyed copy over the network and force it to update with our software. However," she folded her arms, "since the targets themselves are responsible for writing the program, any machines they've used in the past year might potentially contain source code, and should be wiped as a precautionary measure."

Kyou nodded slowly, appearing to understand the unstated implications of Rex's orders. Satisfied, she turned to regard the remaining members of Weiss. "Laperm and Siberian, your orders are to concentrate on target removal. You will receive specific instructions from Balinese during the mission. If there are no instructions, you will backup either Balinese, or Abyssinian and Havana. Understood?"

The question was addressed to both Sena and Ken, though her gaze rested on Ken alone.

_Oh, don't worry, bitch. I understand._ Through the pulse pounding in his ears he vaguely heard Sena's spoken agreement.

_Only good for one thing, after all._

He gripped a fist beneath the table, out of sight.

_'Target removal.'_

He felt a smile creep across his lips as he nodded his own confirmation.

_But that's good enough for me._

He loosened his fingers and uncurled them, spreading them out into a familiar position. Only a few more hours...

"Weiss will regroup in the E section of the south parking lot at 2100. Side arms are authorized for this mission, and recommended. It would be a good idea to spend some time familiarizing yourself with the building layout and the profiles of the targets in the couple of hours you have before the mission, if you haven't already." Rex paused a moment and surveyed the faces around the table. "Any questions?"

Surprisingly, it was Kyou who piped up. "What about the offsite backup storage? They must have stored some of the backup tapes in at least one other location, for security reasons."

"Already got it taken care of." A black box flashed into Yohji's hand. He held it outward in the palm of his hand towards the center of the table for inspection. "I've got a timer on it set to go off tomorrow night. Assuming we don't remote detonate it tonight, of course." The device disappeared back into his trenchcoat pocket.

"Anything else?" Rex's sharp tone breached the silence. When no further questions seemed forthcoming, she unfolded her arms and smiled at the assembled group. "Dismissed."

Ken pushed away from the table, relieved that the mission formalities were finally finished. _How much talking does it take to just kill a person, anyhow?_ He scowled, flexing the fingers, desperately wanting to punch something.

_Or someone,_ he thought, spying Rex approaching behind him out of the corner of his eye. He spun in step to face her, fist ready, only to be pushed roughly aside by a hard shoulder to his chest. Dazed, he watched in dumbfoundment as the woman walked straight past him to the other end of the room.

"Laperm?" Rex politely tapped Sena lightly on the shoulder, a complete contrast to the rude way she had bodily shoved Ken aside only a moment before.

_What does she want with him?_

Sena turned to face her, a nervous smile on his lips. "Yes?"

Rex put a placating hand gently on Sena's shoulder. "Can I speak with you outside for a moment? It's about the mission."

_What?!_

He lunged forward, fully intent on following them, only to find his forward movement arrested by a firm hand on his shoulder. He spun on his heel and snarled in the face of his captor. "What the hell do you want, Aya?"

Impassive violet eyes gazed past him, to the corner where Kyou singly remained. "Now is not the time, Ken." He squeezed Ken's shoulder tightly once before releasing it, and stepped back.

Ken felt the fight drain out of his body. Aya was correct; there was any number of reasons Rex would need to talk to Sena before the mission, not the least of which it being Sena's first mission.

Still, he found it difficult to fight off his inherent mistrust of Rex's actions and motivations. Every encounter he had had with the woman set him on edge, and seeing her take Sena aside to speak with in private - especially after telling him flat-out earlier that she had not expected Ken to attend the mission - only served to fuel the myriad of paranoid scenarios already playing out in his mind.

It would only require an order from above for his partner to abandon him at a critical time during the mission.

And if that did not work... well, he was certain an "accident" could always be arranged.

Ken shivered, rubbing his arms. Was it always so cold in here?

"Hey! Don't look so serious, Ken!"

_Leave it to Yohji to interject levity at the most inappropriate moments._ And yet, it was enough to bring a smile to his face. Yohji smacked Ken hard enough on the back to make him wince. "See? We're all together again."

Ken was unable to resist. "Like a dysfunctional family reunion."

Aya snorted. Yohji faked a blow to the heart, collapsing onto the couch in phony shock. "You wound me, Ken. Anyone else would be privileged to count me as their relation."

Aya glared at Yohji from where he leaned against the wall. "Not me."

Yohji waved his hand dismissively. "And here I was thinking you were finally starting to come around." He grinned, tipping the cowboy hat rakishly over one eye. "Don't worry. You'll figure it out eventually."

"Whatever, Kudou."

It really _was_ like family, Ken realized. He had not comprehended how much he had missed until just now.

But something still felt incomplete. Something was missing, and Ken knew he would only be lying to himself if he pretended like he did not know what it was. His gaze trailed the length of the room, stopping on a small portrait sitting atop the television.

The room had gone silent around him. Ken's feet padded of their own volition across the floor. He stopped in front of the television set, reaching forward with as much care as possible to grasp the portrait in his shaking hand.

_I will remember,_ he intoned silently.

Suddenly, the Koneko no longer felt so welcoming to him. A sense of loss echoed hollowly in the silent room.

Kyou had left the room some time shortly after Sena walked off with Rex. Aya had disappeared off into the shadows as usual, and even Yohji had gone off somewhere to get ready for the mission.

Ken spared the room a final glance before heading upstairs.

_I will remember,_ he vowed, clutching the picture frame tight against his chest.

_And I promise I will save you._

  



	9. Chapter 8

  


**Chapter 8**

  
  


The motorcycle engine idled between his legs, a muted rumble in the otherwise quiet night. Before him, the entrance loomed large and forbidding in the shadows cast by nearby streetlights.

Ken clutched the handlebars tightly, wincing as his ruined fingers curled as far around the handle as his pain threshold would allow.

_What am I doing here?_

A familiar stone monument in the distance glowed stark white against the encroaching night, an answer to his unspoken question.

"Well, might as well get this over with, then." He shut the engine off and pocketed the keys, every intention of making the visit as quick as possible.

And would have, if his legs had not stubbornly decided to stay in place when he tried to dismount.

_What the hell?_ He tried again, willing his body to swing the leaden appendages up and around off of the bike. But it seemed no matter how much he compelled his body to move, it refused to allow him to leave the seat of his motorcycle.

He sighed, digging around in his pocket for his keys. If his own reluctance was going to overpower his bodily will, there was no use in him sticking around this place. It was not as if he did not already have somewhere he needed to be tonight, after all.

His fingers brushed something cold and metallic, and he grabbed it without thinking and pulled it out into the palm of his hand. Quickly realizing it was not his keys, he had started to shove the object back into his pocket when one of the sharp corners caught on the skin of his finger. He fumbled, nearly dropping it in his haste to bring it back out into the light where he could see it.

_Oh god._

To be reminded of _him_... here, of all places...

He pressed the object close against his chest, cradling it securely in the palm of his left hand.

"I guess this is it, Omi."

He pulled the small portrait away from his chest. A grinning, bright-eyed teen in a yellow apron smiled up at him, caught in a moment of suspended time. He clutched it tighter, the sharp edges of the frame biting into the tender flesh of his palm.

"It's time for me to go." He no longer knew whom he was addressing; himself, or the ghost of a friend lost to self-imposed suicide.

"I'm trying." It was becoming more and more difficult to speak past the lump that had formed in his throat. "I wanted to say goodbye. Even though I know better," the words came out in a rush, "but because I don't think I'm ever going to get the chance again." He frowned, regarding the recently upturned mound of soil in front of a nearby grave with a skeptical eye.

"Next time it'll probably be me on the other side of the grass."

The smile did not waver on Omi's eternally beaming lips. Ken stared at the picture, committing the image firmly to memory. _If I'm going to die,_ he decided, _I want the last thing I see to be your smile._

The moon glowed dimly through the scattered clouds obscuring the night sky. The wind was starting to pick up, blowing leaves across of the pavement in front of him. Ken looked off into the distance and regarded the grave marker one final time, as he carefully placed the picture frame into his pocket and retrieved his keys.

It was time for the mission.

  



	10. Chapter 9

  


**Chapter 9**

  
  


_A suicide mission._

_Persia sent us on a fucking suicide mission._

Ken threw his body to the right, adrenaline-quick reflexes yanking his stomach clear of the range of his opponent's hard-heeled boot. He leaned backward just long enough to regain his balance, then twisted his torso sharply to the left, claws unsheathed and targeted directly at the least-resisting part of his opponent's anatomy.

A quick swipe upward through yielding flesh, and that horrible squelching noise that he could never quite avoid, no matter how meticulously he removed the bugnuks from the body...

A couple of steps to the right - turn spin thrust - dance the deadly dance, one he knew so intimately well -

The world around him blurred into hazy shadows of red and gray. The human body was his canvas and Ken was the artist, his blades bright with crimson ink.

Here was the place that made him, defined him.

Here was the one place he allowed himself to lose control.

Out of the corner of his eye he tracked his teammate, careful to keep him separated from the onrush of guards that seemed to pour into the hallway from all directions. Sena appeared to be holding his own fairly well, his chakram freshly anointed with the blood of the one of the targets that had tried to slip past between the horde of guards.

_How the hell did all of this happen?_

Yohji's plan had been very simple. Yohji would go ahead into the building immediately after he gave the 'clear' signal, on the hope that he would catch the primary targets all together at once, and make quick work of them. Three minutes later, Kyou and Aya would follow Yohji's route as far as the server room, where the majority of their work would commence. Ken and Sena were last - cleanup detail, there to take out any strays along the way that Yohji might have missed, and to provide backup as necessary.

Simple.

Perhaps too simple.

Everything had seemed to be going according to plan, at first. Kyou and Aya were already in the building by the time Yohji gave the signal, and Ken and Sena were only just slinking into the ground floor office hallway when Kyou confirmed his physical location over the comm.

A loud burst of static over the comm cut Aguri off mid-sentence. Ken never had the chance to discover what had caused the interference, as the hallway he and Sena had just entered was completely flooded with guards.

That had been fifteen minutes ago.

He had heard nothing over the comm since.

Ken panted heavily, dodging a punch from the right, and returning it with a well-practiced slash from his left. For not the first time this fight, he was thankful none of the guards appeared to be armed. _Sloppy,_ he thought critically as he watched two men go down in one blinding flash of Sena's bloody chakram. _These men have no idea of what they're up against._

And yet they kept coming, somehow oblivious to the mounting pile of corpses defining a perfect semi-circle boundary around the two assassins.

Each body was just another number; a means to a bloody end. 

He felt a smile stretch across his lips as he evaluated his handiwork.

_Don't underestimate me._

Static crackled in his ear, a startling but welcome distraction from the carnage surrounding him. Sena looked at Ken out of the corner of his eye and gave him a discreet nod.

"-linese! Laperm! Siberian! This is Havana! Do you read me?"

Ken palmed on his microphone as best as he could with the damaged fingers of his right hand. "Siberian and Laperm, copy," he grunted, dodging a kick to the abdomen.

"Balinese?" Kyou's voice held a fading note of hope.

A perfect fountain of crimson arced into the air, followed a moment later by the dull thud of dead weight impacting the floor. Ken stepped back from the fresh corpse and looked over in Sena's direction just in time to watch him finish off the last of the guards in the hallway.

In the distance, he could barely discern the red letters of the exit sign as it flickered above the door to the second floor staircase on the far end of the building. The growing knot he had been ignoring in his stomach twisted tight, bile rising sharply in his throat.

"Balinese?"

_His comm must be working now - surely he'll respond; give a status update -_

Silence.

"Balinese?" Kyou's increasingly panicked voice pitched higher in excitement. "Balinese? Balinese? Report status! Balinese!"

A sick feeling of dread washed over Ken as he reached up and slowly palmed off the microphone of his comm.

_No..._

His legs were moving of their own volition down the hallway, racing past the gray and black and red lifeless blurs offsetting the tasteful beige office carpeting and bright white walls. Breath after breath of copper-thick air sucked greedily into his panting lungs as he pounded down the corridor, desperate to make up for as much lost time as his legs would allow without giving out beneath him.

_Too late..._

Scenes of the recent carnage still fresh in his vision, his mind transposed shaggy blond hair atop the empty visage of last man to go down by his hands.

_No!_

The image shifted, from shaggy blond hair to short brunet, a broken crossbow off to the side - a mission compromised, a web of lies, two lives destroyed...

No. He could not - he _would_ not let Yohji down. He would do whatever was necessary to save his friends, _anything,_ even if-

A firm grip on his shoulder jerked him back into awareness. He spun around, slicing out instinctually at his attacker with both of his hands.

It was a testament to Sena's agility that he danced away from the lethal slash completely unscathed.

"Ken!"

The shock of the sound of his given name spoken so carelessly aloud snapped Ken out of his trance. Sena tentatively reached a hand forward, only to have it batted away, as Ken backed away from his proffered comfort.

Now was not the time - not with Yohji in danger, not with the targets still alive. The rejection would hurt Sena, but he knew it would be better for the boy if he never got involved any deeper than this - if he never let himself get attached to any of them...

"No time!"

No time for comfort. No more time for delays. An urgency permeated the air, warning him, compelling him to move as quickly as possible... every second counted, and he had already wasted far too many.

He refused to lose two friends to this mission.

"Siberian!" Sena's voice echoed an indeterminate distance behind, ragged and hurt but still determined, following him despite Ken's odd rejection.

He lengthened his stride, hoping his longer legs would outpace his younger partner. He needed to get away from Sena - not just Sena, but everyone else in the building except the targets. No one else needed to get caught up in this mess. Sena should just go back to the relative safety of Kyou and Aya and get as far away from the upcoming carnage as possible.

Sena was too young to be participating in this bloodbath; what business did Kritiker have recruiting him at his age?

The image of bright smiling blue eyes and a yellow apron flashed into his mind.

Ken swallowed hard; he knew what effect it had already on one person he had made the mistake of caring for.

It was too late to save Omi.

But perhaps it was not too late to save the rest of his teammates.

He stumbled up against the door, pausing a moment to look behind him as he caught his breath. Sena rested in a similar position, back plastered against the wall about a quarter of the building length down from his position. He could see the boy's chest heaving, gasping greedily for oxygen into his overtaxed lungs.

_Good. That means he'll stay there for a little while._ Ken allowed himself a small smile.

_And hopefully stay safe._

He turned around and twisted the knob, throwing his full body weight against the door on the off chance there was a guard waiting on the opposite side. The coast was clear; he took the stairs two at a time, ascending to the fifth floor without needing to pause for a breather.

He stopped in front of the door. There had to be a guard on the opposite side, he realized. They would be fools to leave any access portal unguarded with the Minister there.

_Only one way to know..._

He crouched back, threw the door wide open, and lunged forward into the hallway. He had guessed correctly, he realized belatedly, when the obstacle in front of him went down hard enough to be rendered completely unconscious.

Ken stumbled to his feet, sore and out of breath, but too focused to mind any physical discomfort.

_Where is he?_

Not for the first time he rued his own inattention during the mission meeting. He stalked down the corridor, past countless closed, locked doors, and was beginning to consider breaking one of them down when someone far off to his right caught his eye, trying to blend unnoticed against the wall next to the only open door in the hallway.

As the person came into better focus, Ken increased his speed, confounded by the impossible image in front of him.

_How the hell did he get ahead of me?_

Sena's head jerked in Ken's direction, wide-eyed and shocked, frantically shaking his head and gesturing to Ken to keep his distance.

Under more normal circumstances, Ken would have heeded to the warnings from another teammate. But it had already been far too long. He had already come this far, and he would only stop when his body gave out underneath him. He raced ahead, heedless of the Sena's panicked attempts to stop him.

He would do this for Yohji. He would do it for Omi.

It was time to end this charade.

"Ken!"

Blinding pain tore through his left shoulder only a second after he landed on the floor, the report still echoing in his ears; the blades of his bugnuks already sunken deep beneath him into the lower intestines of the dying body of the man responsible.

He retracted his claw as quickly as possible, not even flinching when the man's blood splattered across his face. His shoulder screamed in pain, blood loss already starting to make him woozy. Frantically his eyes searched the room for any sign of his missing teammate; even the damn cowboy hat would be a welcome sign right about now, if only it meant that-

The cold metal muzzle of a gun shoved unceremoniously against his forehead doused Ken back to cold reality.

"You have the count of three to tell me who you work for." The gun pressed in at the point directly between his eyes. Even if he wanted to, he could not see his assailant to determine whether it was one of his targets. "Otherwise I'll blow your brains out, and let the DNA lab let me know next week."

Ken looked up in dumbfoundment. _H-How did he - where did he -?_

"One."

He lowered his eyes to the floor. What was the point? Even he was not sure any more of exactly who - or what - employed him. Would it really make a difference if he told them? They probably already knew more about his employers than him!

"Two."

Was this really the end?

_I'm sorry, Omi._

A truly pathetic way for an assassin to die.

In the end, he was just another Kritiker failure.

He closed his eyes.

_I'm sorry I couldn't save you._

"Thre-"

"He works for me."

Ken jerked his head sharply to the right to follow the voice... and stared, unwilling or perhaps unable to believe the scene transpiring before his very eyes.

_Sena?_

Impossibly foolish, yet none other than Sena Izumi stood standing in the doorway, poised and defiant with weapon drawn. The gun that had been trained on Ken only seconds before switched its focus to the spot where Sena faced off the remaining man in the room.

"Release him."

The authoritative ring in the voice sounded completely natural, as though the person speaking already had many years' experience giving orders. Familiar, even... The pain was beginning to overwhelm Ken's senses. The edges of his vision blurred together, sharp lines reduced to indistinct shapes - not much longer now, and everything around him would fade away into blackness...

His eyes drifted down to the dead zone between his opponent's gun, and the crossbow tightly gripped in Sena's left hand.

_Crossbow?_

Now certain the pain was making him hallucinate, Ken pinched his leg hard and looked again.

_Huh?_

The crossbow gleamed silver and black in the light cast by the halogen lamps overhead.

Only one person he knew used a crossbow... and it was not Sena.

_No._ A chill gripped his body - the first onset of shock, he recognized dimly - as his mind bridged the gap to the single, inevitable conclusion.

_Impossible - there's no reason for him to be here!_

His heart reeled as his mind raced in flat-out denial.

_I won't believe it! I can't believe it! It's not true!_

_There's no way possible that's-_

"Mamoru Takatori."

The door at the far end of the room slammed shut to admit the last two of the targets, Koji Inamaki, Minister of State for Science and Technology Policy, and Toshihiko Takamura, Inamaki's head programmer. In a flash each had drawn their guns, moving in perfect synchrony across the room to cover any sudden moves by their prey.

"Mamoru Takatori," Inamaki spoke again, rolling the name around on his tongue, tasting it. How was it possible to make a name sound so obscene? "I should have expected no less from the last surviving member of the Takatori clan."

With dread Ken noted that the gun from earlier had at some point swung back to re-train on him, a deterrent from foolish heroics.

"What do you mean?" Deadly ice ringed the tone of what clearly sounded as Mamoru Takatori's voice.

"What do you think it means?" Takamura stepped forward, boldly pressing the muzzle of his gun against the underside of Mamoru's chin, forcing him to have no choice but to stare up into the eyes of the man about to end his life.

"It means your grandfather is dead. And you'll get to die with him - by the same gun, no less. Isn't that sweet?"

The muzzle slid languidly down Mamoru's neck, across his collarbone and down his chest, to where it came to rest directly over his heart.

Takamura's voice dripped like honey laced with arsenic.

"The only good Takatori," he whispered, cocking the hammer, "is a dead one."

  


In that single instant, Ken's world converged to a solitary point.

For the first time in more than six months, he knew exactly what needed to be done. Exactly what _he_ needed to do.

Ken lunged for Mamoru.

  


Four simultaneous gunshots rang out in the air.

  


Twin explosions rocked the foundations of the building like a miniature earthquake.

  


The lights flickered and dimmed twice, before failing utterly and flooding the room in darkness.

  
  


The world had gone to hell.

  
  


The image of a young boy in a yellow apron with bright blue eyes flashed in Ken's mind in the final moment before his vision went completely black around him.

  


_Smile for me, Omi..._

  



	11. Chapter 10

  


**Chapter 10**

  
  


He looked out across the field as the world came into focus in front of him. Row upon row of white grave markers stretched out to the horizon, pale sentries eternally guarding the memories of the deceased.

He knew this place. He had been here many times before, and he would again return someday, when it was time for him to take his eternal rest.

But for now, he did not wish to linger. He had only come here to visit; there was someone here he still needed to talk to.

Ken studied the etched kanji on the simple monument, uncertain he had found the proper marker.

"Takatori Saijou." The marker was plain, standing out among the much more ornate cenotaphs erected for his descendents. Ironic, he mused, that in such an old and large clan, the elder had been the last to eventually pass on.

He bowed his head reverently as he knelt, spreading the small bouquet of pink lilacs in his left hand onto the ground in front, a belated peace offering. As a stick of sandalwood incense perfumed the air, Ken closed his eyes and whispered a brief prayer for the departed souls.

The sun shown brightly down from an azure sky; nary a cloud in the sky or a wisp of errant wind blew across the land. It was a truly perfect day.

Ken opened his eyes and looked around him. In a memorial graveyard with hundreds of markers, he had somehow found himself alone, the only person offering prayers for the deceased. The thought struck him as both odd and vaguely depressing at the same time.

"Takatori-sama." He remained kneeling on the ground in respect. Though he had never held a great deal of esteem for the man while he was still living, recent events had forced some necessary perspective upon Ken, and challenged many of his previous perceptions.

If this person had been that important to _him,_ then the least Ken could do would be to respect his memory.

"Takatori-sama, I..." He searched for the appropriate word. "I regret we never met under favorable terms while you were alive."

Ken closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. That had been much harder to say than expected.

"It's still difficult for me to face you, even now." He swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. "When Omi - Mamoru, that is," he clarified, probably unnecessarily, "left us to go live with you, it hurt. It hurt in ways it wasn't supposed to hurt."

He could feel the shame written across his face. "We were Weiss. We were a team. We weren't supposed to get attached. We weren't supposed to care about each other.

"But we did." He straightened his back, strength born of conviction pouring though him from deep within. "Or at least, I did. I can't speak for the others, but Omi's love was infectious. I would be surprised if anyone could be unaffected by it."

He smiled. Happy memories of Omi flowed through his mind; warm shafts of mid-morning sunlight through the windows of his memory. He reached forward, brushing his fingers over the soft lilac petals, inhaling the heady fragrance of sandalwood, absorbing the serenity of his surroundings as they washed over him and cleansed the lingering ache from his soul.

This, he realized, was true peace. He felt that he could happily remain here forever.

But even in the bright sunlight of a perfect day, something yet nagged him, a voice in periphery of his memory, whispering to him to go back. He tried to ignore it, dismiss it, but that only seemed to make it insist louder.

He pulled his jacket closed tight as the wind suddenly picked up. A gust strong enough to steal his breath scattered loose lilac petals in the wind, strewing them across the expanse of the graveyard. Ken looked askance at the sky above.

Dark thunderclouds, invisible to the horizon not five minutes ago, had already moved in to obscure the sun and turn the sky a sickly gray.

"So that's it?" He shook his head, a derisive smile playing out across his lips. He could take a hint. "It's all right. I get the picture." He pushed himself up from the ground and regarded the stark white marker in front of him one final time.

There was nothing left to be said, he realized with some alarm. He had made his peace, and it was time for him to move along.

Ken bowed his head and moved his feet to step backward, when a firm grip on his right shoulder froze him mid-movement.

It might have only been the rush of the wind, but he swore he distinctly heard his name whispered over the deafening gust.

_Ken-kun..._

He jerked around abruptly, knocking the hand away from his shoulder as he spun in step, his body instinctually adopting a defensive posture to face his attacker.

But as soon as he turned, all thoughts of lashing out abruptly fled his mind. Only shock - shock, and wonder, and the faintest tinge of hope colored his thoughts.

"Omi?" He stepped forward cautiously, his left hand reaching out to grasp at the ghost in front of him. "Omi?"

The shrill whistle of the wind carried away Omi's response.

"Omi?"

He froze directly in front of Omi, unwilling or unable to reach out and confirm the reality of the vision before him. His left hand stopped just short of stroking the other's cheek, close enough to feel the heat emanating from just above his skin, but yet unwilling to indulge in the touch that would shatter the elaborate fantasy constructed by his mind.

_An illusion._ His hand shook as he struggled to choke down repressed emotion. _It's only an illusion._

"Does this feel like an illusion, Ken-kun?" He gasped, mixed parts shock and awe; his palm was now pressed gently against the cheek by one of Omi's own hands. Heat radiated like a fever from Omi's skin, spreading warmth outward from the point of contact out into his body, to the very core of his being.

Ken swayed on his feet, the shock of reality finally catching up with him.

Omi was not dead.

Omi was not dead.

_Omi is not dead!_

The other arm had come around him at some point to hold him steady. Ken had not noticed, still struggling to regain the power of speech robbed from him in his moment of revelation.

_Omi is not dead!_

He leaned forward and threw his arms around the younger man, pressing his cheek against Omi's chest, clasping the thin body against his own and hugging it as though it would evanesce if he dared loosen his hold. Omi melted against him into the embrace, hugging tightly back, hot saline droplets staining the collar of Ken's jacket.

"I -" The words were cut off by a choked sob in Omi's throat. He steadied himself, leaning as close to Ken's ear as possible to be heard over the roar of the wind. "I came here to tell you something, Ken-kun."

Reluctantly Ken released him, tilting his head back only far enough that he could look Omi in the eyes. He felt as if he was speaking through a thick haze. "What?"

A hand caught under his chin, pulling it close so that their faces nearly met. Omi's eyes sparkled with an emotion that Ken dared not name, but fervently hoped echoed the same feeling bursting in his heart.

Then the world stood still and everything around him faded to white as Omi leaned forward and did the unthinkable.

Omi's lips were soft. Soft and warm, and surprisingly needy. Ken felt the last vestiges of his control slip as they touched, and he returned the kiss with a fervor and a passion that surprised even himself.

He would never know how long it lasted. It might have been a couple of seconds or a couple of hours; the fog that enveloped Ken's mind stopped the hands of time, immortalizing the moment forever. It was not until they finally broke apart that his mind began functioning again, struggling to bring to words what the flushed, dazed look on his face already spoke of in volumes.

The world was brighter, somehow, like it had been soaked in bleach, or he was staring through dense fog, or directly into a whiteout. He reached out vainly to grasp at the face in front of him, pulling it closer as the lines faded away, until only twin pools of knowing cerulean stared back at him.

"Omi?!"

"Wake up, Ken-kun."

The eyes drifted shut, fading away into the surrounding mist.

"Omi!"

_Wake up..._

He jerked upward with a start, panting, and stared directly into a pair of very familiar cerulean eyes.

"Ken!"

Sena's worried face swam in his vision.

The _wrong_ cerulean eyes.

"Where-?" He turned his head sharply from right to left, shivering, his mind racing to bridge the rift between dream and reality.

_Omi. Where's Omi?_ His memory remained fogged; nonsensical images flashed through his mind, the shredded remains of the torn tapestry of his recent past. Something about Sena, a crossbow, and Saijou Takatori, but damned if he could remember any of it. He scanned the room desperately, looking for a trace, a clue, something, _anything_ that would trigger the missing memory...

A weak yank on his broken fingers jarred him out of his reverie long enough to look down at the still body lying underneath him.

"Ken-kun?" The voice was raspy, pained, but the sound of it was enough to stop Ken's breath in his throat. "Ken-kun, I -"

"Omi!" He scrambled to reach out and grab Omi's hand for real this time, clasping the fingers as tightly as he dared, helpless as he stared deep into the fading light in Omi's eyes.

"Ken-kun..." A small smile somehow worked its way across Omi's lips, despite the horrific amount of pain he appeared to be in. "I'm glad you were my friend."

Omi's hand went limp; his eyes closed...

  


...and he stopped breathing.

  


------------------------

_lilac (pink)_ - Youth and Acceptance

  



	12. Chapter 11

  


**Chapter 11**

  
  


"And please remember, Hidaka-san, that you are to refrain from any heavy lifting until your next visit. Don't forget to do your exercises at least four times a day, and to make an appointment to see your doctor on your way out. Here is your prescription, in case the pain gets to be too much, though you really should be resting. That's the best kind of recovery. And -"

Ken tuned out the physical therapy nurse as she nattered on for another five minutes about possible side effects and what he needed to bring with him for his next appointment. _And this is why Kritiker hates it when injured operatives are taken in to civilian hospitals._ He frowned, wincing as his abused fingers curled around the thick pen, and scribbled a sloppy signature across the bottom of the insurance form.

Thankful to be finally out of that woman's daily torture session, Ken stopped off at front desk and scheduled a doctor's appointment, much like the dutiful patient he was. He had wanted to talk to the doctor anyhow, to see what kind of treatment his hand would require to mend back to its previous state of utility.

The nurse had told him that if left untreated for much longer, his right hand would probably require separate therapy, if not surgery, in order to regain complete flexibility of his fingers at the knuckles. After just one week of physical therapy, Ken had a better appreciation of why his former J-Leaguers went through great pains to avoid injury. Sometimes the healing hurt more than the injury itself.

He strolled leisurely down the hallway, taking note of the time as he passed the hospital cafeteria. It was mid-afternoon - 14:21, according to the clock on the wall - which meant he had at least an hour until Kyou arrived with his ride. Stopping only long enough in the gift shop to grab a bottle of water, Ken soon found himself hesitating on the threshold of an open room.

"You can come in, whoever you are," a familiar gruff voice called out from the other end of the room. A pause, and then, almost an afterthought, "Unless you're here to deliver more goddamn flowers. Then you can leave."

Ken smiled despite himself and entered the room. Sure enough, almost every usable surface was covered with some kind of bloom - lilies, tulips, carnations, peonies - and of course, roses. Nearly every naturally occurring hue of rose sold in their shop (and perhaps a few extra) were represented somewhere in the room.

"I swear, this is someone's idea of a sick joke. Who the hell sends flowers to a sick florist?"

"Quit bitching, Yohji. I brought you something better." Ken reached into his jacket, making a show of fumbling around a moment before he triumphantly yanked the gift out into the air.

"Ken! My lifesaver!"

Yohji lunged forward eagerly. The small rectangular carton dangled from Ken's fingers enticingly in view, just barely out of the range of Yohji's grasp.

"Wha-? Hey, give them to me!"

Ken snatched the cigarettes back and re-pocketed them. "Not until you're discharged. Consider it an incentive. After all," he gestured expansively to surrounding room, "you wouldn't want to wilt any of the lovely flowers your fangirls brought you, right?"

Something that sounded suspiciously like a mumbled "bastard" floated across the room, but Ken chose to ignore it. It was enough, he decided, to see his friend in such good cheer. He leaned against the wall next to the bed, content in the shared silence.

"You know, Kritiker's going to have a shitfit when it comes time to cover this one up." Unsurprisingly, Yohji had been the one to break the quiet.

Ken shrugged. He had not given the matter much thought. "They'll manage. It's not our job to worry about it." _Just the killing,_ he added silently to himself.

Yohji seemed to accept the answer at face value. He turned his head to the side, staring out of the window beside his bed into the overcast mid-afternoon sky. "Yeah."

The silence between them grew uncomfortable. An inscrutable look crossed Yohji's face as he continued to gaze out the window, deep in thought. Ken opened his mouth and closed it, unable to bring to tongue clever words to break the strange tension that had descended upon the room. After a couple of minutes of fidgeting in place, he leaned across the bed and peered over his friend's shoulder. "What's so interesting?"

"Nothing." The slightest note of wistfulness betrayed Yohji's otherwise irenic voice. "Nothing in particular." Yohji shook his head and manufactured a smile. "Nothing for you to worry about, at least. Hey..." He eyed the elaborate splint on Ken's wrist. "I never did get the story on _that_. Is that what you're here for today?"

Grateful for the change of topic, Ken waved the splint carelessly in the air. "Naw. Today was the shoulder. This wrist'll be next week, if that sadistic nurse has any say." At the mention of "nurse" Yohji's eyes visibly brightened. "Don't even think about it, Yohji. Not unless you're into some serious S&M."

Yohji made a shooing motion with his hand. "I think I'll pass. I've already got a full-time job just trying to please the ladies in the shop." He plucked a pink rose from the vase next to the bed and twirled the stem between his fingers. "Seriously, though. How've you been holding up?"

"I'm fine, Yohji." Ken waved his hand dismissively, forcing a smile to his face that he hoped looked more convincing than it felt. "Really."

"Don't give me that crap, Hidaka." A tight grasp trapped his wrist, hard green eyes turning to pin him in place. "That's bullshit and you know it. Something's bothering you, and I'm not going to stand here and watch it eat you alive."

Ken averted his eyes, but did not speak.

"It's _him_, isn't it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Look, Ken." Yohji leaned forward and grabbed his forearm. The verdant gaze had softened - still intense, but not unkind. "You need to do it."

He turned his head away. "I'm not ready yet."

"Dammit, Ken." An indiscernible emotion, a mixture of anger and self-loathing, colored Yohji's voice. "The longer you wait, the more it's going to hurt. Don't you think I know that?"

Brown eyes widened in shock. The grip on his forearm loosened - a presence now, rather than restraint.

"Don't make the same mistake I made."

The hand on his arm dropped away.

Why did he suddenly feel so cold?

"I know, Yohji." Summoning up strength from within, Ken turned to his friend and regarded him with resigned, tired eyes. He had already been over this many times before with himself. "I need to think it over a little more."

Yohji looked ready to say something in response, but was interrupted by three sharp raps on the doorframe.

"Aya!" Yohji's face split into a wide grin. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Aya's expression was carefully neutral. "Sena is being released today. I'm here to pick him up."

Yohji's face fell. If it was at all possible for Yohji Kudou to pout, he doing his damndest to try. "You didn't come here to visit me?"

"I'm on the clock, Kudou." He reached back, grabbed the edge of the trolley behind him, and pulled it forward into the center of the room.

_Wait a second - is Aya_ smirking_?_ "I came to deliver these."

Ken was certain Yohji's scream could be heard on the other end of the wing. He walked over to the trolley and casually picked a white rose up out of the dozen or so just-delivered bouquets. "Think you can spare one, Yohji?"

A short distance away, the older man was aghast, staring at the massive pile of bouquets in marked disbelief. "This is a joke, right?"

Aya folded his arms and glared at Yohji, completely straight-faced. "Does it look like one?"

Yohji opened his mouth to answer, and shut it immediately.

Ken had to suppress a snicker; it was not often Yohji was at a complete loss for words. "On that note," he shuffled across the room to the exit, "I think I'll be taking my leave. Aya, I'll see you and Sena back at the Koneko." Aya bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Yohji - I'll stop by tomorrow after my session with the nurse's phone number. Good enough?"

"Ken." Something in Yohji's tone made Ken pause in the doorway. "Don't take too long to figure it out." Ken nodded, the sick knot of grief twisting tight in his stomach, and pulled the door shut behind him.

Walking out into the hallway, Ken was grateful to find it devoid of the usual mill of doctors and nurses. Only a few mid-day visitors and the occasional outpatient haunted this wing of the building at this time of day. He accepted the rare solitude gratefully; he needed some time to think, and he wanted to do it alone.

About midway down the corridor he stopped in front of one of the large windows overlooking the courtyard. He has been inexplicably drawn to the view almost a week ago, when he first happened upon it on his way out of the hospital. Every day since then he had gone there after his physical therapy session, to meditate upon his life, and to reflect upon the many hard decisions facing him.

Today was no exception. Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, Yohji's words echoed dimly in the forefront of Ken's mind.

_"The longer you wait, the more it's going to hurt."_

He closed his eyes and pressed his palm against the pane. What _was_ holding him back?

Was it cowardice? Was it his own inability to accept reality, to acknowledge the loss he refused to accept?

_"Don't make the same mistake I made."_

Time was supposed to heal all wounds.

If that was so, then why did it only hurt more?

_"Don't take too long to figure it out."_

He needed to move on. He acknowledged that fact, for all that he continually crippled himself by holding on to the broken past. Every day he stopped at this window; every day, he asked himself if he finally had to the courage to start anew.

Was it really cowardice holding him back? Or was it stubborn hope?

He pounded his hand against the casement, damning the world, damning himself for his own inability to face the reality waiting for him at the other end of the hallway.

_After all,_ he thought grimly, _it really is no different than the way things were before._

_And if you were able to deal with it back then, then you should be able to face the consequences of his sacrifice and move on._

_No._ Something in that statement rang hollow to him.

Ken pushed himself away from the window.

It was not the same as before.

But it _was_ time for him to move on.

The blinds had been drawn, but there was enough incident light coming in from the hallway through the open door to give a clear picture of the interior. Ken paused in the threshold, taking a moment to survey the room for visitors. Even without an audience the words he needed to say would be difficult; already he could feel his throat beginning to constrict in nervous anticipation. A small rivulet of blood dripped languidly down from his left hand, thorns of the forgotten rose biting into his palm as he squeezed the stem convulsively.

Satisfied that the room was otherwise devoid of visitors, Ken made his way across the linoleum tile to the center of the room. _It's now or never._ He placed the white rose into a small vase on the nearby table, and took a seat in a chair by the bedside, just left of the array of steadily-beeping life support machines.

"I'm sorry, Omi." The words caught in his throat, coming out only just above the volume of a whisper. Hesitantly, he reached forward and cupped Omi's limp hand beneath his own, struggling to speak past the tightness in his throat. He had known that this would be difficult, but he never could have estimated beforehand how much just seeing _him_ like this would hurt. It felt like someone had reached into his stomach and rent apart his innards.

"I..." The words died on the tip of his tongue. He took a deep breath to steady himself, gently squeezing the hand beneath his own. In the background, the heart monitor beat a staccato rhythm counterpoint to the pulse thumping in his ears.

"I came here to say goodbye." The words spoken, he unclasped Omi's hand and watched it fall limp on to the bed. He could still feel the warmth from where their hands had touched; a glow that intensified and burned, surging through him and lending him the strength he needed to make his decision.

"I don't want to say goodbye."

A statement of rebellion, and a statement of truth.

"I don't ever want to lose hope."

A suspicious stinging burned at the corners of his eyes. Ken bit his lip to distract himself from the pain, concentrating instead on the serene visage of the man lying on the bed in front of him. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the relaxed lines of his face made Omi appear all for the world like he was simply sleeping peacefully.

Ken knew better. Omi had fallen into a coma not long after the combined efforts of Ken and Sena resuscitated him, and every day that Omi did not wake up drastically reduced the probability that he would ever return to consciousness. Unless Omi awoke soon, it would take a miracle on the order of Aya-chan's recovery to bring him back.

But regardless of how bad the odds looked, regardless of whether or not the rest of the world had written him off, Ken refused to lose hope for Omi. Omi had never once lost faith in him, and he owed Omi the same kind of respect.

He reached forward and smoothed an errant lock of hair back from Omi's forehead. "It probably seems a little strange to you, me sitting here talking to a person that can't answer." A bark of self-depreciative laughter slipped out from his mouth. "And perhaps a little unhealthy, too." He flexed the broken fingers on his right hand; the image of blood on stark white marble, trampled periwinkles, and muddy freesia flashed in his mind's eye. "Though maybe in some way, it's been kind of therapeutic."

The heart monitor beeped a steady rhythm in the silence. The same repeated pattern continuously scrolled across its display; both comforting and disheartening at the same time.

"I've had a lot of time, lately, to think things over. Things that didn't make any sense at first got a lot clearer once I spent some time separated from them and thought them through."

Memories of his time in the hospital, of ambivalent meetings and reunions with the members of Weiss, and of surreal conversations with silent grave markers flashed through Ken's mind. Every step of the journey had been another step forward in his long road to healing; another key to unlock the doors hiding the missing pieces of his soul.

"And I think I understand, finally. I needed to come to terms with a lot of things I'd been in denial over. My past. Weiss. My... instability, I guess. And -"

His tongue betrayed him at the vital juncture. _And you, Omi._

He looked across the peaceful form lying still in front of him. _I had to finally come to terms with my feelings for you._

"I'm not too late, am I?" His voice cracked on the last word, the effort required to speak too much for the tenacious hold he held on his fragile self-control. The saline wetness in his eyes burned, threatening to break loose and cascade down his cheeks at any moment.

It was too much. He did not know what he had thought to accomplish coming here today, but he had reached his breaking point, and lingering here any longer would only compound the hurt within.

The chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor as he pushed himself to his feet and turned to leave. "Goodbye, Omi."

"Ken-kun." A throaty whisper and a weak hand on his forearm froze him mid-step. "Ken-kun... wait." 

His mind was reeling and his heart caught in his throat, but that did not stop Ken from turning around to confront the culmination of his every wish, hope, and prayer of the past seven days.

Wide blinking bright blue eyes regarded him guilelessly with unmasked hope. Ken's breath caught in his throat. He reached forward, daring to press his fingertips against the warm flesh of the other's cheek. "Omi?"

His voice could not have possibly sounded louder than a whisper, but it was enough for Omi to hear him. "Ken-kun?" A warm hand came up to press his against the side of Omi's face. "Ken-kun? You're alive!"

To be the reason for that look of happiness - for that _smile_ - Ken would have gladly laid down his life. He was certain the look of wonderment on Omi's face was echoed on his own. "Omi." He felt his body moving beneath him; in two swift steps, he was leaning over the bed, his arms clasped as tightly as possible around his friend's thin body. "If this is a dream, I don't ever want to wake up."

"Ken-kun?" Hot tears wet Ken's jacket collar as the body in his arms shook with the expulsion of suppressed emotion. "Ken-kun, I -"

"Shh Omi, you don't need to say anything." He released Omi from the embrace and stepped back to regard him critically from an arm's length. "You just woke up, and there's probably a million tests the doctors -"

"That's it, Ken-kun." Omi averted his eyes, his cheeks flushing shamefully. "I didn't _just_ wake up." He looked up to meet Ken's gaze with beseeching eyes. "I've been awake for almost two days."

_What?_

Ken felt the rug pulled out from beneath him. _Awake?_ His mind raced to desperately to comprehend the simple words. _Awake? For almost two days?_

His shock must have written itself across his face. Omi broke his gaze almost immediately and looked away, shamefaced. Ken fumbled, reaching out with his good hand to grab him underneath the chin. Omi froze, and Ken took the opening to draw closer, lifting his face so that their eyes met once again. _"Don't take too long to figure it out."_ Ken wanted to laugh. "That'll teach me to be so dense."

"Ken-kun?"

"Don't worry about it, Omi." He leaned in closer, so that their noses almost touched. "I'm just realizing it's about time I stop hesitating, and face up to all of the demons I've been hiding from all these years." Their faces were close enough that their breaths mingled.

_It's now or never, Hidaka._

A hot mouth descended upon his own, robbing him of all faculty of speech as his mind reeled with an overload of sensation. Instinctually he had closed his eyes, but that did not stop the colors swirling in his vision or the euphoria-induced vertigo from making him sway drunkenly on his feet. This was bliss... so similar to his dream, yet completely different, because this was _real_ - this was Omi kissing _him_, Omi's lips pressed demandingly, needingly against his own, a million thoughts and sensations dismissed in this single eternal moment -

Ken stumbled backward as the kiss was broken abruptly.

"Omi?" He blinked dazedly, desperately trying to process the chaos of swirling thoughts in his head. "Omi?"

Omi's eyes were somewhat glazed, but a hint of fire was evident in their depths. "Are you sure about this, Ken?" The eyes hardened, and in that moment he looked every bit the leader that Ken had grown to respect and love. "Because I'm tired of waiting. And I'm sick of lost chances."

"Omi..." Ken's heart cried for him to immediately accept, but nagging doubt reined him back. "Omi, what about - "

"Mamoru Takatori is dead." The words were spoken with the ringing declaration of an official edict. Ken stared at Omi in open-mouthed astonishment. "He was pronounced dead on arrival seven days ago in the emergency room downstairs."

"Omi?"

"My grandfather is dead, Ken. I'm the last of the Takatori clan." A wistful light glinted in Omi's eyes briefly. "There's a whole life there, if I wanted it." The light faded, replaced by icy determination. "But I had already made my decision when I took this mission. Mamoru Takatori was necessary to reform Weiss, but the position of Persia can be held by anybody." He paused just long enough for a faint smile to touch his lips.

"Even Omi Tsukiyono."

"You - you would sacrifice - for - ?"

Omi held up a hand to cut him off. "We've all made sacrifices, Ken-kun," he pleaded gently. "The magnitude of those sacrifices is irrelevant. We are bound together because of our sins - but they are also the very roots of our strength. Because of that, I believe in pursuing every opportunity for happiness that comes my way." Omi smiled at him, at once somehow both the cheerful teen and the confident leader that Ken fondly remembered. "Are you willing to accept that as well? Can you accept happiness?"

_"Every opportunity for happiness."_ Happiness - that was what he wanted, right? Happiness; peace of mind; a sense of fulfillment. Not a complete list, but he was certain he would find time to add to it in the future. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.

"I accept it, Omi." He smiled at Omi with a confidence he had not felt since the final days before Weiss disbanded - the last time he could remember ever feeling this alive.

_I accept our happiness._

  



	13. Epilogue

  


**Epilogue**

  
  


"Well, I guess this is goodbye."

Ken knelt down in front of the grave marker and placed a bouquet of lily of the valley at its base. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the lighter and stick of incense he had brought along with him. For a moment, he contemplated the irony of what he was about to do; then, shrugging, he leaned forward and placed the stick into the holder. Sweet smoke wafted up to the sky in loose spirals, an offering of appeasement to the souls of the wronged dead.

"My shrink says I'm not supposed to come here any more. She says it's unhealthy for me to be talking to you, when I really ought to be talking to real people." He narrowed his eyes and looked out across the expanse of graves in the distance. His gaze fell upon one particular well-tended grave, and he smiled. "And you know what?" He turned his head back to the marker in front of him. "I think she's probably right."

A young woman walking her dog through the graveyard appeared quite alarmed by the sound of laughter emanating three aisles away from her. Ken watched with a slight smile as she hastily retraced her steps back to the entrance.

"But I also think it's been cathartic. And for that reason alone, I don't regret it."

The smile dropped off of his lips as he turned to regard the stone before him with a serious mien. "'The dead cannot exist among the living, except as memories.' That's something Omi told me, many, many years ago." He pushed himself to his feet. "I think I understand, now, what he meant."

In the distance, an arm waving eagerly in the air caught his attention. "I've still got a lot of memories of my own left to make before I die." He waved back, smiling at the young man waiting by the graveyard entrance. "And I want to spend that time with the people precious to me."

_Because you never know when it'll be the last time you ever see them._

He took one long, final look over the grave marker, committing its simple details to memory. He would never again return to this place. Memory would sustain him; his place was among the living, not talking to the dead.

A light breeze blew through the graveyard, scattering and dissipating the last wisps of incense. Ken was already in motion, halfway across the graveyard to the entrance - to where Omi, and a new life, awaited him.

Off in the distance, the solitary stick of incense burnt out at the base of the Ken Hidaka's grave.

  


THE END

  
  


_Lily of the Valley_ - Sweetness; Humility; Return of happiness

  
  


Author's closing notes:

A little more than nine months ago I started writing this story. At the time, I had only seen maybe four episodes of Gluhen, and only half of those subbed. I'd realized even before beginning this fic that my ideas about Gluhen would probably diverge pretty heavily from where the series itself was heading. My inner CanonWhore balked, but lost out in the end to the rare inspiration that struck me every time I sat down to work on this story.

This fic was in many ways an experiment for me. I wanted to see if I could completely tell the story in third-person limited perspective, relying minimally on exposition in favor of indirect detail. The bridging chapters (prologue, even-numbered chapters, and the epilogue) were an experiment in apostrophe, with Ken addressing the absent souls in the graveyard. I can't judge for myself how successfully it worked, but in terms of the story itself, I'm happy with how things came together when I wrote it.

I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and comment on this story. I've read all of the feedback, and it has helped me better think through the way I've chosen to tell the story, especially in later chapters. Big thanks especially to Lady Cosmos and Jessie Shockey, for their last-minute betas before posting. And thank you, the reader, for reading my story. I may write primarily for my own whim, but it still means a lot to me that others read my fumblings at fiction.

'Til next fic!


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